What Frodo Did
by AngieT
Summary: A young Frodo has an accident while staying in hobbiton. COMPLETED.
1. Default Chapter

What Frodo Did  
  
1/?  
  
Frodo Baggins, Orc Slayer, Elf Friend, and Saviour of Middle Earth, began the perilous climb up the scaly hide of the latest dragon he had killed, with his sword, Sting, stuck in his belt, in his quest to claim the huge ruby it wore in place of its left eye. Not that he had killed the dragon to claim its hoard, but to stop it terrifying the local villagers, eating their cows and burning their homes. He wanted the ruby to present to Orangeblossom Underhill, she of the fair skin, auburn curls and elvish blue eyes.  
  
Happy with his story Frodo continued his ascent of the apple tree/dragon, his goal that early ripened apple, so high above him.  
  
Orangeblossom would probably swoon into his arms when he presented her with the ruby. He would have to carry her into the Kind's great banqueting hall and, well, have a really big feast, while everyone sang ballads about his bravery.  
  
Oh look, a birds nest!  
  
Frodo peered in but the lofty residence was deserted. A few bits of feather clinging to the round of twigs testified to its earlier occupancy.  
  
He looked down to the ground. Wow! He was really high up!  
  
He loved this tree, but, on his other visits to Hobbiton, had never got this high up before. It was on the edge of the orchard and had caught the brunt of the East wind which had twisted it slightly into the perfect shape for an imaginative tween to turn into an elvish sailing ship, or, as at present, an ex-fire breathing, village terrifying dragon.  
  
Frodo resumed his climb. Some of the braches were a bit fragile looking and he had grown a lot over the winter. He almost reached Bilbo's shoulder now. But he was sure he could reach his goal.  
  
And at the very moment he had reassured himself, and was reaching for the next branch, an irate red furry form appeared inches from his blue eyes and chattered furiously as only squirrels can when confronted with a hobbit lad too close to its hoard.  
  
Frodo took an involuntary step backwards to compensate for his hand having missed its hold; the branch supporting his foot creaked in protest and gave way.  
  
Flailing arms and legs Frodo plummeted from the tree and the squirrel retreated in a flash of fluffy tailed satisfaction at having seen the monster off.  
  
***  
  
Frodo opened his eyes to a stream of sunlight through gently swaying leaves in the canopy of the tree above him  
  
He groaned and winced. He had fallen out of trees before - and the worst injury he had got was a spanking from his father for being up one in the first place, and for putting his mother to the trouble of repairing torn clothing - but he had never fallen from so high before.  
  
Carefully at first he moved one arm; bringing the hand up to brush bits of tree debris from his face. His hand encountered something wet and sticky. He looked at his fingers in puzzlement, not understanding. One moment he had been in the middle of a glorious adventure and now he was flat on his back beneath the apple tree trying to remember how to breathe. There was blood on his fingers. He must have caught his face on a branch as he descended. Yes, his lower jaw was congealed with the stuff. He moved it experimentally -ow! That hurt!!  
  
Blast!! He would catch it now from Bilbo; there would be no concealing a grazed chin. Fool! He told himself. Felled by a squirrel. Maybe he could say he just tripped over.  
  
Both arms were working so he moved to push himself up on his elbows to see if he had torn any of his clothes.  
  
His eyes went wide and his mouth fell open despite his resolve not to move his jaw. The shock of the sudden pain took his breath away and once more he was staring up at the tree from his prone position, tears starting to his eyes.  
  
He had really done it this time! He felt gingerly under his back - had he fallen onto a rock, or taken a branch down with him? He could feel nothing but he knew he had hurt himself badly for it to hurt so much. Black spots were swimming before his eyes and he willed back the rising nausea. Throwing up from flat on his back would not be very pleasant and he was not about to risk the experiment of trying to move again. The memory of the pain was still far too clear.  
  
Frodo lay still for a while wondering what to do. This side of the orchard was too far from any roads to allow for shouting for help. He would just have to lie here till he felt better. Once he was on his feet he was sure he could make it back to Bag end - even if once there he had to confess his tree climbing to Uncle Bilbo and accept the consequences.  
  
Fool of a Baggins! Well, he had paid for it now. He would probably be sent to bed with out supper - a dire punishment - one usually reserved for when he had been caught out pilfering mushrooms. He would rather clean out the woodshed again. And he HATED cleaning out the woodshed on account of those horrid big spiders that lurked in wait in shadowy corners to run over his feet. He could never see why the woodshed needed cleaning out in the first place. It was not like you needed to keep the wood clean.  
  
Pull yourself together Frodo, he prep talked himself. One good heave and you will be on your feet and home before teatime. Maybe he could sneak in the window of his room and change before Bilbo noticed. He took a deep breath; one, two, three.  
  
The squirrel was checking over its stock when a half strangled cry of anguish startled it. Curious as to what had made such a noise it peered down through the branches. The felled monster was lying still again, blood seeping from a deep gash across its chin and legs twisted beneath it in a strange manner. 


	2. Chapter 2

Hey, wow! You liked it! Blushes madly and hides under her desk in pleasure. Angie  
  
  
  
What Frodo Did Chapter 2/?  
  
Frodo was so glad to be tucked up in his soft bed in his comfortable room at Bag end. Bilbo had found him and carried him home. There would be mushroom soup for supper and a story before bedtime. The relief that he was not badly hurt was almost overwhelming and Bilbo was just so glad to have him back safe that no punishment had even been mentioned.  
  
His room felt oddly cold though. Maybe the quilt had fallen off. He could not move to reach it. He could not move at all. Something was holding him down. Maybe he was in a sack and a troll was going to sit on him.  
  
There were little pinpricks of pain running up and down his spine when Frodo opened his eyes, and it hurt even to breath. He was still lying under the tree and despair gripped him. He wanted so much to be safe in his bed.  
  
The sun had fallen lower in the sky and a chill breeze had started up. He moaned, and felt dried flakes of blood scatter from his chin. His jaw throbbed.  
  
He must have been unconscious for a couple of hours. He had missed tea and Bilbo would be cross and starting to pace. His Uncle might come looking for him but, seeing as he had said he would be down by Bywater, the search would do neither of them any good. He had meant to go to the lush meadows around the pool but then the lure of dragon hunting had called and he had taken the other direction. Bilbo would not know where to look for him.  
  
He had always been warned that one day his trick of running off by himself would get him into trouble. Well, now it looked like he was fair up to his neck in trouble.  
  
Oh, if only he could transport himself into his bed at Bag end. The old embroidered quilt that was too thread bare for the guest rooms but upon which Frodo loved to trace the delicate patterns of violet and pansy. Oh, for his feather mattress and plump pillows. A cosy fire in the grate and Bilbo, in the rocking chair, telling him a story until he fell asleep with a head full of trolls, shape shifters, and singing elves.  
  
He was suddenly feeling very very sorry for himself, and wished he had been better behaved, or that he had some friends with whom he had been playing and who would now run back to fetch an adult who would know what to do. But he had no friends in Hobbiton and now he was stuck under a tree all night and that was that.  
  
There was a rustling from the low bushes that grew between some of the trees. The sound of a weight being thrust through the barrier.  
  
Frodo tried to stop breathing - the better to listen. It might just be a badger or a fox but his mind was running to bears or wolves. Trying to still his breathing only caused his heart to beat more loudly to his ears and his chest to hurt. The something was definitely getting closer. It could probably smell the blood and was coming to see what tasty morsel had been left out for its supper.  
  
It was nearly upon him and Frodo took as deep a breath as he could through the pain and readied himself to scream.  
  
"Mr Frodo, Sir?" It was Samwise Gamgee. Youngest of Gaffer Gamgee's boys. A tousle headed, rosy lad, solid and comforting in his homespun jacket and trousers. And Frodo thought he had never been so glad to see anyone in his life.  
  
"Sam!"  
  
"You're hurt, Mr Frodo, you got blood on your chin."  
  
"I think I've hurt my leg too. Can you help me get up?" It was alright now. He had been found.  
  
Sam looked quizzical. He was a deal shorter than the older hobbit. He came over and knelt by Frodo's side and then looked up into the tree.  
  
"You've been climbing trees again!" Sam was fair set to turn into a miniature version of his father. The fact that he was so much younger than Frodo, and yet so much more serious would have been funny if Frodo had not been in such a predicament.  
  
"If you stick your hands under my middle you could leaver me up without me having to bend my back too much."  
  
"Alright." Sam stuck his hands into the small of Frodo's back. "You say when."  
  
"When!"  
  
The yell this time sent the first of the evenings roosting birds back into the sky to circle in alarm in the dusk.  
  
"Oh, Mr Frodo. Say you're not dead!" Sam wailed in terror.  
  
Frodo was clutching the gardener's boy by the upper arm in a vice like grip. Tears were streaming down his face. "O, Sam," he moaned, when he could talk "I think you are going to have to go for help." His vision was swimming with darkness as though night had come of a sudden.  
  
"But I can't leave you!" Sam was crying too. Frodo's cry of pain had been like nothing he had ever heard before.  
  
"I'll be alright Sam. Run back to Bag end and get Bilbo. Please!"  
  
Crying and stumbling Sam, thrust on by the desperation on Frodo's, words fairly flew back to the road.  
  
Frodo did not hear the crashing progress of his would be saviour. He had never imagined in his life that anything could hurt so much. He must have a terrible wound in his back. He could no longer see the branches of the tree above his head. His peripheral vision was swamped with darkness. He wondered if this is what it felt like to be stabbed with a sword.  
  
Oh, if only Bilbo would get here before he died. He could not imagine how anyone could be in so much pain and live.  
  
Little aftershocks were still shaking through his body. He tried again to reach his back to see if there was any blood. Maybe he had a branch sticking right into him. But even that small movement was too much for him and the darkness closed in. 


	3. Chapter 3

What Frodo Did Chapter 3/? Angie  
  
Bilbo and Hamfast sped along in the wake created in the dust by Sam's short, fat legs. Short and fat though they were, the two adult hobbits had a job to keep up with him.  
  
Bell had come up to Bag end to report the missing Gamgee boy to her husband and found Bilbo about to head off in search of his own errant lad. Hobbit children missing meals was a thing to be taken very seriously - in fact it was almost unheard of.  
  
"If I know Samwise he will be where Frodo is," said Bilbo.  
  
"He do seem to have the knack for seeking Mr Frodo out. Like a terrier our Sam," confirmed the Gaffer.  
  
"And here he comes now!" added Bell with a smile, which quickly became concern.  
  
Sam barrelled into his mother, nearly knocking them both over and was hard pressed, between his distress and his breathlessness from the run, to get his tale out.  
  
Bilbo's thoughts raced as he considered what to do, then after a moment he turned to Sam. "Lead on Master Samwise, quick as you can!" Sam was relieved to tear back along the road he had come.  
  
Bilbo was feeling sick with unease. Frodo was to spend the whole summer with his eldest cousin, and for him to have come into mischief this early on did not bode well. Aside from the fact that the Brandybucks would be down on Bilbo like a whole hill of burrow delvings if he allowed any harm to come to the lad, Bilbo would certainly never forgive himself. Frodo was his only link to his dearest Drogo and Primula, and he would not lose their only son too. Still, no using in fretting yet, the lad had a fair amount of hobbit sense and his pranks and misdoings usually ran to nothing much worse than mushroom thieving.  
  
Bilbo continued on, trying to convince himself that Sam had just exaggerated, or misread the situation, that everything would be fine. After all, the boy was accident prone, but as resilient as the next tweenager.  
  
The sight of Frodo lying under the twisted apple tree almost caused Bilbo's heart to stop. The lad was deadly white, apart from the gory mess of his chin. Suddenly feeling dreadfully ancient, Bilbo dropped to his knees by Frodo's side and tried to find a pulse with fingers which shook terribly. The Gaffer eased him out of the way.  
  
"He's alive. Knocked 'isself out most like." Muttering to himself as though overrun by an infestation of vine weevils in his flower beds Hamfast made an inspection of the lad. "I'd be first to admit I'm no doctor but he might have hurt his back like as not," said Hamfast. "I'll go back for a rail or summot to carry him flat on and send Hamson for the doctor. You bide by his side, Sir. I'll not be but a jiffy."  
  
Feeling desperately inadequate Bilbo sat on the leaf strewn ground by Frodo's side and took up the boys hand to stroke, murmuring, "Oh, my lad. My dearest boy."  
  
As he sat in the orchard watching twilight fall Bilbo became aware of an odd noise. It took him a moment or two to realise that it was Frodo's teeth chattering. Cursing himself for being every sort of a fool Bilbo stripped off his jacket and tucked it around the boy. Frodo felt horribly cold. He was probably going into shock. Bilbo tried to rub some warmth back into the chill hands and Frodo opened his eyes.  
  
"Uncle Bilbo. Am I dreaming still? I had a horrid dream that a troll sat on me. My legs feel like they've been squished to jelly."  
  
"Oh, Frodo! No, you are not dreaming. We are going to get you back to Bag end and have the doctor look at you." The old hobbit smoothed the unruly fringe out of Frodo's pain filled eyes and then got out his pocket handkerchief to dab away some of the encrusted blood which had formed a horrible mess down Frodo's neck. It almost looked as though a wild animal had torn his throat. No! Frodo was going to be fine. He was alive and talking.  
  
"I am so sorry Bilbo. I never meant to fall."  
  
"Hush lad. Can you tell me where it hurts?"  
  
"My chin and my back. When Sam tried to help me to sit up it hurt awfully. What is wrong with it?"  
  
"Probably just a very bad bruise or sprain, dear." Bilbo tried to reassure them both.  
  
"Is it bleeding?"  
  
"Not that I can see."  
  
"I thought I had been stabbed right through." Frodo winced again and his eyes rolled out of focus. "Can I have pancakes for supper?"  
  
"You can have whatever you like, my boy," said Bilbo, not realising that Frodo had lost consciousness again.  
  
Frodo remained unaware all through the trip back to Bag end; for which Bilbo was truly grateful. With Hamfast Gamgee's assistance, Bilbo undressed the unconscious tween, trying to be as gentle as possible, and got him into a warmed bed just as the doctor arrived. The boy's chin he cleaned and put gauze on himself but he was dreading what the doctor was going to say about Frodo's back. He could see for himself the bruising low on Frodo's spine and feel the heated knot of swelling. Frodo had hurt himself badly this time.  
  
The doctor bustled in, all tweedy comfort and white hair. "What has the lad been up to now?"  
  
"Falling out of trees," Bilbo replied. "He's hurt his back."  
  
"If you put the kettle on I will have a look at the boy." Dr Bramble dismissed Bilbo, knowing his job would be a lot easier without the stricken older hobbit fussing round him. The doctor pulled back the bed covers. The boy was a slight enough weight for him to handle alone and he rolled Frodo onto his side with great care and pulled up his nightshirt. The damage was clearly evident but the full extent of it was not. This could be a sprain, bruising of the tissue around the spine, or it could be something much worse.  
  
Bilbo all but dropped the teapot when the doctor walked into the kitchen. "How is he? Please tell me."  
  
"There is not much I can tell you yet," said the doctor. "Backs are tricky things, though Frodo's at least doesn't appear to have been broken anywhere, which is very fortunate for all concerned! At best he is going to be laid up in bed for at least a week or two. He could just have bruised the area around his spine, or he could have done some deeper harm."  
  
Bilbo sat down with a thud.  
  
"Now, lets look on the bright side. Time can heal a lot of things. He is young and strong. He still has some growing left in him to do and this is most likely one of those things that can be grown out of."  
  
Bilbo put his head in his hands and leant on the table.  
  
Milo Bramble had been the Hobbiton doctor for many years now, though he hardly ever got called to Bag end. Bilbo's extended youth and hearty good health were legendary in The Shire. He opened his bag now and began to pull out bottles. "He will be in a lot of pain when he wakes up. Give him some over sweetened tea - a little Willowbark tea would be good every now and again, say half a cup in the morning, half a cup in the afternoon, and otherwise either your usual tea or peppermint tea - the fresh scent it gives to the air should help lighten his mind and his mood, which may be just as healing as anything else I could suggest just now. Though he will probably have a job keeping anything down for a while."  
  
The doctor pulled a small pad from his bag and scribbled on it. "I'll send one of the Gamgee lads to the apothecary for this compress. He won't want you to touch his back but apply this as often as you can. Keep him warm and lying down flat. He will be laid up for at least a week or two. I will come again in a couple of days." Milo moved forwards to put a hand on Bilbo's slumped shoulder. "Don't worry too much, Mr Baggins. Hobbit lads are made of stern stuff. I am sure he will be up another tree by the end of the month."  
  
But as he said it he knew in his heart of hearts that it would not be that simple. 


	4. Chapter 4

What Frodo Did 4/? Angie  
  
It was rather a subdued gathering of Gamgee's who sat around the kitchen table for a cold supper that night. When there was a knock at the door Bell went to answer it with little Samwise sitting on her hip and still hiccupping with the occasional outpouring of tears.  
  
"Dr Bramble, Sir, how is the young master?"  
  
"I came down to see if one of your lads could go to the apothecary," said the doctor reaching out to tousle Sam's already tousled hair. "And what is wrong with you little one?"  
  
"He's grown rather fond of Mr Frodo Sir and didn't like to see him hurt."  
  
"Mr Baggins may be needing some help Mrs Gamgee. That lad is in for a long time of trouble. He has hurt his back badly."  
  
"Not broken sir?" asked Bell in alarm.  
  
"No, I think not, but we will have to wait and see."  
  
"Oh, poor Master Frodo, and poor Mr Bilbo," Bell kissed the head of her youngest. "I'll send Hamson out for the medicine and go up to Bag End myself."  
  
--ooOoo--  
  
Frodo opened his eyes slowly. All was dark around him and for one terrible moment he thought he was still in the orchard under the tree. Slowly though his vision cleared a little and he could make out the comforting glow of the fire in the grate and a single candle on the nightstand. His head ached furiously and even the muted glow of the flame made his eyes hurt.  
  
He moaned a little and closed his eyes. There was someone in the room with him. Someone who put a blessedly cool cloth over his forehead and eyes.  
  
"Please," Frodo managed.  
  
"What is it, my lad?"  
  
"Can I have another cloth for my chin? It throbs so."  
  
"Of course, my lad, you can have anything you like."  
  
"You're not cross at me then?"  
  
A familiar hand took up one of his and Frodo felt a thumb rubbing over his palm. "No, my lad. You gave me a fearful fright and I am just glad to have you safe at home."  
  
Frodo lapsed into silence for a little longer and heard water being wrung out. "How long have I got to stay in bed?"  
  
A second cloth was placed tenderly over his jaw.  
  
"That will depend upon whether you can eat some broth for me, and then lie still and try to sleep."  
  
"Will I be able to get up tomorrow?" Frodo's voice was a little muffled now.  
  
"Let's see shall we."  
  
"Bilbo?"  
  
"Yes lad?"  
  
"I am so very sorry I climbed the tree, and I promise not to do it again."  
  
With the aid of a few drops from a small bottle Dr Bramble had left behind Frodo's eyes quickly closed and he slept through the night. He had nasty dreams though, dreams in which he was endlessly falling into some dark realm, and then it was no longer dark, but there were flames; flames around him and falling with him. It seemed as though there were some terrible enemy which shared his descent and he struck out at it as they fell but could not reach it, though the flames were hot on his body.  
  
--ooOoo--  
  
Morning found a worn looking Bilbo sitting by his young cousin's bedside. He had slept better on Smaugs Mountain than he had this night with Frodo ill. While the lad slept on Bilbo opened the curtains a little.  
  
Frodo's usually tanned and rosy face was white, what could be seen of it around the compresses on his forehead and chin. His hair was a tangled mess in which a few bits of twig were well ensnared.  
  
Bilbo was under no illusions about his inability to take care of the injured lad. He would have to get a woman from the village to act as nurse. He was terrified that he might inadvertently do something wrong which might hurt the boy further.  
  
A little moan, somewhere between sleep and waking drew Bilbo's attention back to Frodo. The hobbit lad shifted on the bed and moaned in real pain this time as he was jarred back to consciousness.  
  
"Lie still," Bilbo warned unnecessarily.  
  
"Oh please Uncle Bilbo, close the curtains. The light hurts my head dreadfully!"  
  
Bilbo moved to comply and once again plunged the room into comforting twilight. "Would you like some breakfast, my boy. I could make you pancakes and then come and read a story to you."  
  
"Can I get up this afternoon?" Frodo wanted to know.  
  
Bilbo pulled his chair back up to the bedside. "Frodo lad. You had quite a fall yesterday. You may have to stay in bed for a while yet."  
  
"How long is a while?" Frodo asked. "Two days?"  
  
"Maybe even a week."  
  
"A week!" Frodo wailed. "BUT.. Oh, I had all sorts of adventures in mind. There is a little stream I found to explore and I haven't been to see if the Lightning Tree has come back to life yet, and then there is the badgers set. Hamson said he would take me down one evening to see them."  
  
"They will all wait for you my dearest boy."  
  
"What will I do for a week? My head hurts so I can't read."  
  
"I know, I know. I can read to you." Bilbo tried to sooth the fretful boy and leaned over to kiss his forehead. Even under the cold compress Bilbo was worried to feel heat radiating off his small cousin.  
  
Frodo turned his head restlessly away. He was upset and angry. He wanted to be out and about, but he did admit that his head hurt dreadfully. The worst of it was that there was no one else he could blame for this. It was his own entire fault he was stuck in bed on a glorious summers day. He would die if he had to stay in bed a whole week! Tears were threatening and he closed his eyes tight shut to try to keep them at bay, but it was no use, he felt so weak and helpless and hot, his head hurt, and his back, and he felt like tight bands were drawing round his chest.  
  
Bilbo wanted desperately to draw Frodo up out of the bed and wrap his arms around him, but he knew he could not and had to settle for resting a hand on the lads shoulder - a shoulder which felt far too hot to the touch and spoke of fever brewing. 


	5. Chapter 5

What Frodo Did Part 5  
  
After his ordeal Frodo found himself quite glad to lie in the gloom of his shuttered bedroom. He had tried to eat some pancakes for breakfast, but had turned away from the plate after two mouthfuls.  
  
"No, please, Bilbo," he said. "I feel like I am going to be sick."  
  
It was not the pain in his back which bothered him so much as the way the room lurched and spun whenever he opened his eyes or tried to raise his head even a little to take a half cup of minty tasting tea. Even with his eyes closed and a cloth over them it felt as though his bed was bobbing loose around the room, leaving him feeling decidedly seasick - like the first time his parents took him boating in Buckland. From time to time he was sure he was going to fall out of the bed, but if he tried to move at all, especially his legs, it just sent a flare of agony straight through him.  
  
And just as bad was that his hot skin was so sensitive against the sheets that every thread felt to him like he was being dragged over the trunk of an extremely rough barked tree. . And just to top it off, every noise seemed magnified out of all proportion. Weary with restlessness and pain, the noise of the Gaffers clippers on the rose bushes drove Frodo to distraction.  
  
Bilbo was reading to him softly when all of a sudden the boy just burst into tears.  
  
"Frodo lad, what ever is it? Are you in pain?"  
  
"It's. it's that noise. It sounds like ."  
  
"There, my boy. I shall go and tell the Gaffer to work elsewhere for a bit."  
  
Frodo felt miserable. He came to dread the moments when he must be moved - to sip some tea, or to take care of a call of nature. He felt so furious with himself for being so helpless and having to use a chamber pot - at his age! He wished he had never gone near the dratted tree. If only he had gone down to Bywater as he meant to. He could have sailed the toy boat Bilbo had given him as his visiting gift this summer. A real elvish boat with fine sails and beautiful carving. He could have been an elf lord travelling across the sea to the undying lands. Or the new kite shaped like an eagle.  
  
At the thought of the kite fresh tears spilt over his face. Even now he could have been lying on a grassy slope making the kite swoop and soar above his head. Orangeblossom would have been really impressed with that. Only now he was stuck in bed, and all on account of some silly apple and some silly squirrel! And now he had cried so much his ears were filling up with tears.  
  
Bilbo padded softly back into the room. "I have a visitor for you Frodo!" he said.  
  
Frodo opened one eye to see Bell Gamgee in the doorway of his room with Samwise in her arms.  
  
Frodo sniffed. "Hello."  
  
"We'll not bother you but for a moment, Master Frodo, it was just Sam here. He's been fretting over you something awful and, if you don't mind, he just wanted to see that you were alright."  
  
Frodo thought that anyone could see he was obviously not all right but he tried to be gracious. After all, if it had not been for Sam he would still have been under the apple tree, and he did rather like the open faced little boy.  
  
"Hello Sam. I want to thank you for helping me yesterday."  
  
Sam said nothing but Frodo cracked his eyes open enough to see the little lad smile at him, and somehow, that did make him feel a little better and he did his best to give a little smile in return.  
  
Bilbo and Mrs Gamgee left the room to have a hushed conversation in the hallway and Frodo must have dozed because the next thing he was aware of was waking alone in the room in a terrible tangle of bedclothes. His hands and arms were tangled up in the sheet and he had managed to pull the quilt half off the bed. The cool cloth had been dislodged from his forehead and was lying wetly against his cheek. His pillow was all damp and uncomfortable. With the room in shadow he could not tell what time it was and he felt disorientated. Where was Bilbo? Frodo had a sudden dread that Bilbo might have gone out.  
  
Worse. Gandalf might have come for him again. He had gone off with the dwarves and left Frodo behind. There was no one in Bag End, he could feel the empty tunnels around him. He would just have to lie in bed until the fire went out and .  
  
No! Bilbo would not leave him. Bilbo would tell Gandalf that Frodo would just have to come with them to get the dragons treasure. Gandalf would come for him, when he came to pick up some pocket-handkerchiefs for Bilbo he would pick up Frodo too. He would have to go on a litter though, behind one of the ponies.  
  
He plucked at his sheeting again.  
  
But how far away was Rivendell? It would take them a very long time to get there - carrying him. Maybe the eagle could take him there first. Yes, that would be the best plan. It would be lovely to lie on the back of an eagle, its soft feathers beneath his aching back, cool wind on his face. He could meet up with Bilbo and the dwarves at Rivendell. He could meet them there, and study the maps and find the best route to Laketown, which would be easiest for the pony with him on the litter. But what about the river? They could float the litter on the barrels, but he might tip over, he would drown!  
  
"Frodo, Frodo my boy!" It was Bilbo, and he sounded terribly distressed; no wonder, drowning his cousin on a barrel.  
  
"I can't ride the pony!" Frodo cried. "And what if I fell off the eagle?"  
  
"What? Whatever is wrong Frodo?"  
  
"You will just have to stay here!" Frodo choked on tears. "I won't be put in a barrel!"  
  
"Frodo, no one is trying to put you in a barrel. You have a fever. You are in your bed and you must try to rest." But Frodo would not be consoled. 


	6. Chapter 6

What Frodo Did 6/? Angie  
  
Dr Milo Bramble sat in his comfortable house, situated within an easy five minute stroll of the Green Dragon, and its fine selection of real ales. He was taking his ease before his evening meal with a pipe by the hearth. This time of year a fire was hardly needed but he liked to watch the flames and poke at them occasionally with his stick. Mrs Bramble was singing as she worked round the kitchen, occasionally pausing to shoo a child out from under her feet.  
  
With the meal nearly ready she came to sit with her husband for a moment.  
  
Dr Bramble was well respected in Hobbiton, he was a hard worker, never afraid of snow or rain should duty call at any hour of the night. Hobbits were generally a healthy race- the occasional bout of stomach trouble due to overeating, but Milo had done well for himself and his pretty wife, and their brood of pretty children. He took her hand now and smiled at her, glad to have a half hours rest. Now that the worst of the winter illnesses were out of the way, and with few deaths in the very elderly, he could afford to relax a little. But not too much. Summer was the time of year when most of the children seemed to start going down with the usual selection of childhood illnesses.  
  
A loud knocking on the door startled them both for a moment and Mrs Bramble got up to answer it. She stuck her head back round the parlour door a few moments later. "Milo dear. It's Samwise Gamgee. Mr Baggins would like you up the hill. Master Frodo has taken badly." She had his bag already in her hand and sent him off with a kiss before going to take tea off the hearth.  
  
--ooOoo-  
  
The peaceful environs of Bag End were in turmoil. A few neighbours had turned out to see what all the noise was about. Gaffer Gamgee was keeping them back at the gate but Dr Bramble had no such escape. As he went in through the big round door he heard the sound of furious yelling.  
  
"I will not stay in bed! I want to go out! I DO NOT want a book!!!" This last was punctuated by the flurry of a book being launched out into the hallway outside Frodo's bedroom. Dr Bramble hurried forwards.  
  
"No Frodo lad!"  
  
Dr Bramble ignored the distressed Bilbo and went at once to assess the situation on the bed. Frodo, hair all but glued to his forehead above a red face, was using all his might to ignore the pain in his back and legs as he tried to get to out of bed. He was sweating profusely and the Doctor did not have to go far to see he was running a high fever.  
  
"I want to go out!" Frodo absolutely screamed the words, and tried to heave himself from the bed with the obvious results. He collapsed back, half off the bed and half in Dr Bramble's arms, sobbing furiously. The sudden agonising intensity of the pain had driven all fight out of the small boy and he was reduced to hitting his fists into his pillow.  
  
"I want to go out!" he whimpered between sobs which were breaking Bilbo's heart. "Why won't my legs work?"  
  
The doctor eased Frodo back onto his pillows. "Steady lad. Lets have a look at you and see what we can do. Fighting your Uncle won't get you out of bed any quicker. Mr Baggins, I think we could all do with a cup of peppermint tea."  
  
"I don't want any!" insisted Frodo petulantly. "And tell that cave troll to go away." He waved an arm urgently to the corner of the room where there was nothing more ominous than his bookcase.  
  
With great efficiency Dr Bramble stripped back the tangle bedding. "Now, Frodo, I want you to try to move your legs for me." Frodo did as he was told but the results were hardly perceptible. "Now, lets roll you over and have a look."  
  
Frodo bit his lip to keep from crying out as he was rolled very gently onto his side. He made no sound but tears constantly streamed down his face. No sound that is until the doctor pressed on the swollen flesh at the small of his back. Frodo flinched and cried out, then turned his head slightly to the doctor. "Oh, no, please don't do that. Leave me alone! It hurts so!"  
  
Bilbo came rushing back into the room and took Frodo's sweating and tear stained face between his palms. "Its alright my boy. It will be over in a moment."  
  
Frodo was gently placed back on to his back and covered up again. "You will need to change his nightshirt and sponge him down," instructed Dr Burrows. "The tissue around his spine is badly inflamed. It is causing the fever. Also, you will need to massage the muscles - not directly over the injury, but from about a handspan below the injury and down behind his hips to the top of his thighs. They are knotting as they constantly try to take the pressure off his back and are causing him even more pain. But it's the fever we need to concentrate on first."  
  
If it had been possible for Bilbo to have gone any whiter he would have done so now. "What shall I do? He was raving earlier. He thought I was trying to make him go on a journey."  
  
"We need to keep him calm," Dr Bramble poured a few drops of something into a cup of water. "Come now, Master Frodo, drink this for me." He lifted the damp head from the stained pillow.  
  
Frodo responded to the authority in the doctor's voice and took the drink. He hoped it would make him sleep. He wanted the journey to be over and to wake up in Laketown.  
  
Big blue eyes, red rimmed with crying and pain looked up at the doctor. "Uncle Bilbo packed me in a barrel," he said. "I know he did because I can't sit up or move my legs, but I think it is leaking." Tears of fright started to trace their way down Frodo's cheeks until, after a few moment, the doctor's sedative started to take effect and Frodo's eyes closed. 


	7. Chapter 7

An extra bonus chapter for you here. My editor got carried away with his editing and wrote a whole new chapter for us!  
  
So, this chapter is not by me but is a one off by Mark - who is masquerading as Dr Milo. I think he did a great job - he writes more suffering for Frodo than even I did!  
  
  
  
What Frodo Did 7/?  
  
Bilbo paced back and forth, checking on Frodo from time to time. It was late, very late - about half past two in the morning. He had never felt so helpless in his life. His favourite relative in the world was so terribly ill. He listened to Frodo whimper as he slept, trying to toss and turn, moaning in desperate frustration and pain as his paralysed legs pinned him down. Time seemed to have slowed down while Frodo suffered and Bilbo didn't know what to do. All he could think of was just to keep changing the cloth draped over Frodo's face, try to keep him cool as the fever burned through him. He periodically cleaned Frodo up, mopping away the trails of sweat that seemed to stream out of the poor lad, his skin glistening in the lamplight. Brushing the lad's sodden hair gently out of his face as Frodo's head tossed from one side to the other, the whimpering increasing.  
  
Frodo looked around him in panic. He was falling and he could do nothing to stop it, spinning slowly as he fell. He had fallen from the edge of a crevasse, but he couldn't remember climbing up. He had been chasing after Uncle Bilbo, full of despair that his uncle had deserted him to go adventuring again with Gandalf and Thorin and all his friends. Frodo had been left behind, un-thought of, forgotten. Just a burden to the world, one to be left behind and discarded. All he knew now was that he was falling to his death, a fall that went on and on, causing his limbs to distort and twist. He could feel his fingers getting thicker and thicker so he couldn't do anything with them. At the same time his arms and legs were getting thinner and thinner and he was terrified they would snap at any moment. He tried to cry out, but he couldn't remember how. He heard a deep rumbling sound that quickly became a roar, and he tried to discover its origin, looking up quickly, and then around - just in time to see the most gigantic, evil looking dragon diving straight for him. He stared into it's malicious eyes as it opened its huge mouth full of razor sharp teeth. He tried to scream - but no sound came out. He froze, petrified, noticing his many-fold reflection in the polished red scales as it sliced through the air at him. He tried to scream again, but couldn't. Suddenly he realised that even if the dragon didn't get him he was falling straight towards a set of spears that had been planted in the ground below and were pointing straight up at him. He fell faster, terror coursing through him and his heart pounding fit to wrench out of his chest. Closer and closer they came as he fell. He was just about to reach them, be skewered by them, when.  
  
He was falling and he could do nothing to stop it, spinning slowly as he fell. He had fallen from the edge of a crevasse.  
  
Bilbo jerked awake, having fallen asleep in a chair pulled up to Frodo's bed. He'd succumbed to his exhaustion and now pulled himself guiltily to his feet. He had been woken by a sudden noise and he hurried over to Frodo to check on his condition. His heart dropped and his mind whirled as he saw the look of horror on Frodo's face. His mouth was stretched open as if in a scream. Bilbo laid his hand gently across Frodo's forehead and nearly jerked it away it was so hot. Frodo was burning up! Bilbo tried to pinpoint the source of the noise, but couldn't remember what it had been like until he saw the shredded sheet laid over the boy's chest with Frodo's hands clawed through it. "Frodo!" Bilbo shook Frodo's shoulder gently. "Frodo!" There was no response. Bilbo shook a little harder, called a little louder, "Frodo! FRODO!" Again, there was no response. The doctor must be called! NOW! No delays. But someone must stay with Frodo, that was clear.  
  
Bilbo ran round to Gaffer Gamgee's burrow and pounded on the door. "Come on, come on, please answer!" Bilbo pleaded with the painted door, feeling that an eternity had passed since he knocked. At last, it opened. Bell! Just the person.  
  
"Mr Bilbo! What's wrong? What's happened?"  
  
"Bell, Frodo's getting worse. I have to fetch the doctor. Will you please watch him for me while I go?"  
  
"Of course, Mr Bilbo. Is there.," but she was talking to thin air.  
  
Bilbo was gone. As soon as Bell agreed, he turned and ran for the doctor, forcing his legs to move faster than they had done in years, taking deep gasping breaths and knowing that every moment he took to reach Dr Bramble could be a moment too many. He ran, ran as if all the dark powers of Middle Earth were after him, knowing that if he were too late then he would wish they had been.  
  
--ooOoo--  
  
Dr Milo Bramble woke with a start and wondered what his wife could possibly be doing at this time of night to make so much noise. Then he realised that she was sitting up beside him, just getting out of bed to answer the door. "No, my dear. I'll get it. It sounds pretty urgent.," His words trailed off as swung himself out of the bed and made his way quickly to the front door.  
  
"Bilbo! What's wr- ," but he didn't have a chance to ask.  
  
"Doctor, it's Frodo, he's so hot I can hardly touch him, and he looks absolutely terrified, I can't keep him cool and I can't wake him up -" Bilbo broke off in gasps, trying to regain his breath and Dr Bramble took the opportunity to speak.  
  
"Bilbo, sit your self down over there. You look as if you'll fall over at any moment, and it's clear we don't have time for that. You rest, catch your breath. I'll slip on some clothes and get my bag."  
  
It was clear to Dr Bramble that Bilbo was deeply frightened, and knowing Frodo's condition he knew it was very likely that Bilbo had every reason to be scared. He slipped his trousers on, grabbed an overcoat and headed for the front door, glad that he kept a stocked bag of oils, essences, herbs and bandages by the door for just such emergencies.  
  
"Bilbo, you stay here until you've caught your breath. Honeysuckle," he called to his wife, "I'm going up to Bag End to check on Master Frodo. Could you get Mr Bilbo something to drink before he follows? Some sweet tea would probably be best. And give him one of your wonderful little early strawberry tarts if he'll have one." And with that, he was out of the house and trotting towards Bag End.  
  
--ooOoo--  
  
He arrived at Bag End to find that Bell had taken command of the situation and had her husband and her eldest sons filling buckets with water as cold as possible and bringing them to her. She was dipping bandages into the water and laying them thickly over Frodo's forehead and torso, leaving just his nose and mouth clear. Dr Bramble heard the moaning and whimpering as he hurried through the door. He took in at a glance what Bell was doing and smiled at her as he reached the bed.  
  
"Well done, Bell. You've done exactly right. Let me just get at the boy to see how things are." He removed one or two of the cloths and rested his hand against Frodo's forehead, then just over his heart, which he could tell was racing as if it were trying to burst. Frodo wasn't getting any cooler - clearly the dripping wet cold cloths were just staying the progress of Frodo's illness rather than reversing it. As he considered the best course of action, he could feel Frodo getting hotter and hotter. He needed to do something right away.  
  
He turned to Gaffer Gamgee and his sons, who were standing round watching, holding their breaths, as if by will alone they could assist in Frodo's recovery. "Mr Hamfast, I need you and your boys to run round to the cold- store. I need ice. Lots of it. Fortunate, we are, that it's early summer and there's still so much left. I need you to fill the bath with it, and fast!"  
  
Gaffer, Hamson and Halfast trotted out, and Dr Bramble turned back to Frodo. "Bell, let's get some more of those cloths on him. We can't let him get any hotter! Then we need to get him into the bathroom. I'll need help with that, but I suspect Mr Bilbo should be back any moment now."  
  
A minute passed, then another, each seeming like an hour, until Bilbo could be heard gasping in the corridor. Right behind him came the Gaffer, carrying a sack full of ice. "Mr Bilbo, help me get Master Frodo into the bath. It's the only way we can get his temperature down far enough and quickly enough. Mr Hamfast, pour the ice in and we'll place Master Frodo onto it." As Gaffer reached the bath and started pouring in the ice, Dr Bramble and Bilbo lifted Frodo out of the bed as carefully as they could, doing their best to support him and reduce any motion that he might sense as they carried him into the bathroom.  
  
Frodo was in a furnace. He had been captured by orcs and they were roasting him alive. Periodically they stuck their spears in, piercing his flesh and cackling, asking each other if he was done yet. He must nearly be done. He despaired, knowing he was all alone in the world, unloved, worthless, burning, left to be supper for orcs. He was being swung from side to side in the furnace to make sure he was done on all sides. They kept sticking him with their spears - why couldn't they just leave him alone until he was finished. In his pain and misery, tears streamed unnoticed down his cheeks.  
  
"Frodo! Frodo! Come back to me." Bilbo and Dr Bramble lowered Frodo into the bath, the misery in Bilbo's face mirroring that of his young cousin as he saw the tears on Frodo's face. Hamson was back with another sack of ice. After making sure that Frodo was supported by the slope of the tub, Dr Bramble turned to Hamson. "Pour it in on top of him, quickly! And Bilbo, fetch one of those buckets of cold water. We'll need to pour in a little of that!"  
  
Suddenly Frodo was plunged into the depths of an icy pool He hadn't realised it was possible to feel this cold. He was sinking, further and further down, sucked into a freezing whirlpool. He tried to struggle against the flow, to swim out, but he wasn't strong enough and he couldn't make his limbs obey him. They were going numb, completely numb. He knew he was dying; he couldn't fight against it any more. This was the end. He felt the cold moving up his body, higher and higher, colder and colder, if that were possible. His terror peaked and his mind went blank.  
  
"That's it. You can put the bucket down now, Mr Bilbo. And that's enough ice. Thank you Mr Hamfast, thank you Master Hamson, thank you Master Halfred, for your efforts. Now all we can do is wait." The doctor glanced at Frodo in the bath again, and ushered everyone out into the hall leaving just himself in the bathroom as he tried to reassure them that with the cooling of his body Frodo now had a better chance.  
  
Unnoticed, Sam, who had been roused a little earlier by all the activity and had slipped into the bathroom with his parents during the confusion, emerged from behind the tub where he had been hiding, listening, and knelt up against it murmuring, "Please be all right, Mr Frodo, please get better." He took one of Frodo's hands, and absently stroked it, watching Frodo's face intently as he spoke, repeating it over and over, willing him to recover with all his being. And deep in his heart, Frodo knew he was no longer alone. 


	8. Chapter 8

Anyway - I have been suffering from monstrous writer's block. I know what I want to write but just have not been able to do it. So Mark alias Milo helped me out and got me kick started again. This is a joint chapter written by Mark and I - and a nice long one. You have Mark to thank for all the medical detail - as he has a tendency to do his back in now and again.  
  
  
  
Chapter 8  
  
As Bilbo closed the door behind the departing Gamgee's, he heard Dr Milo Bramble give a startled cry. Fearing the worst he rushed into the bathroom, almost knocking Dr Bramble over in his haste and himself almost tripping over. Dr Bramble took a step back to regain his balance and steadied Bilbo, then stepped aside so that Bilbo could see what had startled the doctor.  
  
"Sam," exclaimed Bilbo. "What are you doing here? You should be tucked up in bed! Your parents are going to be worried sick when they find you gone! What were you thinking? How did you get in?"  
  
"He was there when I turned round," said Dr Bramble.  
  
Sam looked up at Bilbo and muttered something. Bilbo stepped closer. "Sorry, Sam, I couldn't hear what you said."  
  
Sam gazed up rebelliously and said, a little louder, "Mr Frodo was all alone!"  
  
Bilbo looked at him in disbelief. "Sam, I don't know what you mean - I am here, Dr Bramble is here, your parents and your brothers were just here! Frodo has had someone with him ever since he fell ill! And you really need to get back home."  
  
Sam just clasped Frodo's hand a little tighter. The little boy had been developing a bad case of hero worship that spring for the older boy. Frodo had a gift for story telling, inherited no doubt from Bilbo, which would always grant him a place of honour. Hobbits did love a good story - whether the gossip of some half imagined Tookish indiscretion whispered over a beer or four at the Green dragon or a fire side tale, also much embellished of adventures they fervently thank their lucky stars they would never go on. Frodo could spin a tale of elves that would keep Sam enthralled through even meal times.  
  
"Mr Baggins," the doctor murmured, stepping closer to Bilbo. "Why don't we let him bide a while - I don't know whether it is the effect of the bath, or whether it's Sam's presence, but Master Frodo does seem to have calmed down somewhat. It couldn't hurt if Sam stays for a few minutes, but we'll have to notify Bell and Hamfast. Besides, once Frodo has cooled down I want to do another exam, and it might even keep Frodo calm a little longer. We'll see."  
  
The effects of his surprise wore off, "How is Frodo? How is he, Doctor?"  
  
Dr Bramble quickly padded over to Frodo and laid his hand against the lad's forehead, then checked his wrist. "Well, the pulse is still a little rapid, but his temperature is coming down nicely. Let's leave him there for few minutes more and then I'll do another exam. Meanwhile, I feel I could well do with a nice cup of tea and I suspect Sam would appreciate one as well. If you would be so kind, then Sam and I will stay here and watch Frodo."  
  
"Very well. Then while you examine my boy I'll hurry round and let Bell know where her own little boy is."  
  
Milo Burrows was of the old school of healing and had inherited a bit of very good advice from his mother: 'Medicines all very well, but there's much as can be cured by a cup of tea'. As they drank the tea they relaxed a little after the panic of getting Frodo into the ice bath and Bilbo started laying out towels on the bathroom floor, making up a pallet on which they could set Frodo. Dr Bramble finished his cup and then he and Bilbo filled bucket after bucket with melting ice so that they could pull Frodo out of the bath onto the pallet, Sam brushing away the remaining ice on Frodo's torso as they went. When they could lift him out, Bilbo gathered the unconscious lad into his arms and dried him off with a warm fluffy towel.  
  
As he held the dear boy Bilbo felt a pang of possessiveness that made him want to crush the small body close to his. "Oh, my dear, dear boy," the old hobbit muttered. "It is not only Sam who is looking forward to you waking and chatting away to us all again." Bilbo had never thought to find himself caring for a child and the sudden depth of his feeling almost startled him. He loved Frodo so very, very much.  
  
They then laid Frodo carefully on his front and as Dr Bramble began his examination, Bilbo hurried down the hill to let Bell know what had happened to Sam. Sam looked on nervously as Bilbo left Bag End, but then hunched down by Frodo to hold his hand again, once more taking up his murmured chant. "Mr Frodo, you're not alone. Sam is here. Mr Frodo, please get better."  
  
Dr Bramble knelt down by the boy's side and carefully checked all over Frodo's back and down his spine, palpating him again and confirming his earlier diagnosis. This time, though, when he got to the inflamed area of Frodo's back, he noticed a dark speck deep in the pale flesh, and as he investigated the speck he noticed a tiny puncture in the skin. He has missed it before, and might well have missed it this time as well if the effects of the freezing bath had not made Frodo's skin almost transparent, the tiny vessels in his skin narrowing and starting to shut down.  
  
Dr Bramble felt as if a dozen candles had been lighted in his mind. "Of course! The lad caught a number of nasty splinters in his fall from the tree. I thought we had found them all, but clearly one went deeper than the rest and has become infected, thus exacerbating all of Frodo's other symptoms. Somehow I need to drain that infection and get that splinter out. Poor Frodo." Dr Bramble glanced at Sam's worried face and stopped talking. #It's a good thing he's unconscious#, he continued in his thoughts. #Lancing that infection is probably going to hurt even more than damaging his back did.# He turned back to Frodo and laid cool cloths on him until Bilbo could return.  
  
  
  
A few minutes later the front door opened and an anxious Bell was ushered in by Bilbo. She hurried into the bathroom and instantly spotted Sam, who hunched down even further under her suddenly angry gaze. "Samwise Gamgee! If you know what's good for you, you had best get yourself back into your bed this instant! To be pestering Mr Baggins and the doctor in this way! I've never been so mortified in all my life! How will I be able to hold my head up in public when they find out I have such ill behaved children?"  
  
Dr Bramble decided he had to break in and restore a little order. "Mrs Gamgee, it's not as bad as that. In fact, I think Sam's presence here has somehow been of considerable relief to Master Frodo. I don't know how, but Master Frodo seems to know Sam is here, and is comforted. Nevertheless," he turned to little Sam, who looked up at him with starry eyed gratitude, "young Master Samwise, here, is going to have to leave." Dr Bramble knelt to be on eye level with the little boy and spoke kindly, "Samwise, now that Mr Baggins is back I'm going to have to take care of Master Frodo, and I'm going to have to give him all my attention. I need you to go with your mother, and maybe, you can ask her to let you visit Frodo tomorrow evening once he's had a chance to recover - and he WILL recover, Sam, I promise you that. Mr Bilbo will let your mother know as soon as Frodo is up to it."  
  
Bilbo nodded his head firmly and then held his hand out to Sam, who looked uncertain for a moment, but then stood and padded over to take the hand. Bilbo led him out of the bathroom, Bell following behind. As they left, Frodo moaned quietly, despairingly, but Mrs and Master Gamgee continued on until they had left Bag End and returned to their beds.  
  
As soon as they were gone, Bilbo trotted back to the bathroom. "Doctor, you mentioned some sort of operation?" His heart dropped into his stomach and left him feeling once again deflated and worried.  
  
The doctor looked up and noticed the effect his words had had on the older hobbit. "Now, Mr Baggins, don't take on so. I repeat what I said to Sam. I believe I've discovered the source of Frodo's rising fever, and once that has been removed Frodo will have an excellent chance of recovery. Of course, his legs are a different matter, but if I can get rid of the infection it may even have some effect on them. I will need you to be calm and collected, and to make sure Frodo doesn't move. But first I need a bowl of boiling water, and if you have a bottle of strong spirit then bring that along as well."  
  
Bilbo disappeared for a few minutes and then returned bearing a large bowl of boiling water, a bottle of his strongest spirit and a few towels. Dr Bramble poured a little of the water into smaller bowl and then dropped a long handled knife with an almost impossibly thin blade into the large bowl along with several needles of different sizes. He used a little of the water in the smaller bowl to clean Frodo's lower back and then washed his hands. He retrieved a small vial from his bag and poured a little of the contents onto a gauze pad, which he rubbed over the bulge of the inflammation.  
  
"Doctor, what are you doing?" Bilbo was watching Dr Bramble's actions intently, and very nervously.  
  
"Mr Baggins, there is a splinter, likely from the tree he fell out of, lodged deeply in Frodo's back. I need to get it out, as I'm sure it's what is causing the infection. Once I've drained the infection and removed the splinter Frodo should rapidly recover until he is able to enjoy the world again. The bad news is that it is going to hurt very much. For that reason more than any other I could not let Sam stay any longer. And I will need you to be on hand to hold Frodo down should he start to struggle. I've numbed the skin over the inflammation with a rare oil I managed to purchase in Bree. That should help, but I don't want to take any chances. If you would please take up a position by his arms then I'll begin."  
  
"Shouldn't we move him back to his bed for this? I'm sure the boy would be more comfortable there. Or onto the Kitchen table for height and sturdiness?" Bilbo was surprised that the doctor made no mention of moving Frodo out of the bathroom.  
  
"It's because of the ice and water, Mr Baggins. I want him to be right here should his temperature rise to a critical level and we need to lay him back in the bath, and even if that's not the case we will still need to lay cold cloths sodden with the ice-water over him afterwards until we know his temperature is coming down. Now, if you would take his arms."  
  
So saying, the doctor waited only until Bilbo went to his station then took up the knife from the bowl and cut deeply into Frodo's back. A second passed, then two, then Frodo suddenly woke, tensed and uttered an ear- piercing shriek!  
  
"Bilbo, grab his arms!" Bilbo did so, tears pouring once again down his cheeks as he helped immobilise his agonised cousin. Oh, but the old hobbit felt as though he were torturing the thing he loved most in the world.  
  
Dr Bramble sat on Frodo's thighs, leaned over his back once more and cut again, even more deeply. Frodo screamed a second time, struggling vainly to escape the pain, and then collapsed into merciful unconsciousness. Dr Bramble quickly withdrew his knife and squeezed on the sides of the inflammation. From the wound oozed a sickening mixture of new blood, old blood and greenish yellow pus. "Mr Bilbo! Quickly! More water!"  
  
Bilbo leaped up on shaking legs and grabbed the kettle and another bowl from the kitchen and was back in an instant. Dr Bramble dabbed a pad in the boiling water and then cleaned away the substance seeping from Frodo's back. He squeezed again and reached for another pad as the reeking fluids surged forth once more. Again and again he pressed and cleaned until finally all that issued from Frodo was fresh, clean blood. Very carefully Dr Bramble examined Frodo paying particular attention to the small puncture and the tissues beneath it. All traces of black had now vanished. He sighed in relief. While Frodo's spine was still inflamed, the large bulge had reduced considerably in size. He was sure he had managed to completely drain the infection and the worst was now well and truly over. The splinter, too, was gone, washed out with the detritus from the infection.  
  
Using his smallest needle, Dr Bramble carefully sewed up the incision he had made a few minutes previously and then sat heavily on the floor, feeling surprisingly exhausted after such a short procedure.  
  
"Mr Bilbo, let's get those cool cloths on him again, but that area on his back must stay dry and clean. Let's wait a half hour or so. I'll sit by him to check him every few minutes and if his temperature drops then we can move him back to his bed." Dr Bramble glanced at Bilbo to make sure his advice had been understood and noticed that Bilbo's face had gone white and his hands had started to tremble. "But first let's administer the spirit! I'll need two small glasses." Bilbo wobbled somewhat as he made his way to the kitchen to fetch them, his mind beginning to cloud with the shock of what he'd just seen and done. Frodo's scream was still echoing in his mind.  
  
Upon his return, the doctor splashed some of the spirit into each glass, passed one to Bilbo and kept the other for himself. "Drink that, Mr Baggins. I think you need it more than Frodo does right now! Down the hatch!" He sipped a little from his own glass, feeling the warmth burn it's way down his throat to his stomach and kept an eye on Bilbo until he saw Bilbo tip the glass up and swallow the contents. A moment later some colour returned to his face as he gasped and, satisfied that Bilbo would soon be all right, Milo returned his attention to the young hobbit in his charge. "Now, Master Frodo, let's see how you do and whether we can get you back into your nice, comfortable bed."  
  
Trying to think of what to say, Bilbo found his mind had gone blank. Torn between relief that the operation was over and guilt that he had helped subject his dear, dear cousin to such torture, he found that he could not speak - could not even think. He wandered out of the bathroom, then wondered what he was doing in the hall and wandered back in again. After a few moments he grasped the last thing the doctor had said. "Bed. Yes. Move him back to his bed. I'd better change the bedding or the poor boy will be in such discomfort." Bilbo trotted off toward Frodo's bedroom, trying to regain meaning through routine and eventually regaining sufficient of his senses to complete his task and start to hope, again, that the poor lad, HIS lad was now on the road to recovery. 


	9. Chapter 9

What Frodo Did Part 9/?  
  
For Bilbo the next few weeks were the longest of his life. No peril he had faced in the past had come even close to this. The passage of time was lost to him in a repetitious blur of days and nights, one indistinguishable from the next. A woman had come up from the village to help and without her Bilbo did not know what he would have done.  
  
While not nearly so critical, for days Frodo's fever had still ranged to dangerous heights battling against his body's considerably weakened defences. Most of the time the boy had been oblivious to his surroundings, sleeping fretfully or calling out in delirium, seeming to calm down a little only on the few occasions that Sam managed to evade his parents' vigilance and slip round to sit with Frodo - until his parents noticed his absence and came to fetch him. They had not been happy with him that terrible night that they had nearly lost Frodo.  
  
"Samwise," the Gaffer said, "Don't 'ee be botherin' Master Frodo now! 'E needs peace and quiet to get 'is strength back, and 'e can't be doin' that with you causin' a disturbance."  
  
Sam wasn't convinced, but could do nothing about it. Each time Bell would apologise to Bilbo. "We're terribly sorry Mr Bilbo, Sir. We just can't get the lad to understand. He's become devoted to the young master, but he's only seven and he can't make sense of it. He just keeps asking why Master Frodo doesn't wake up and come outside like he used to."  
  
Bilbo's heart twisted slightly in his chest at her words, but all he could do was to shake his head a little in distress and thank them for their trouble.  
  
********  
  
Twelve days after his fall Frodo's fever finally broke and the following day he woke up enough to recognise Bilbo, and to even take a bit of light broth. Dr Bramble proclaimed the worst to be over and Bilbo all but collapsed in relief. Though the worst had certainly taken its toll of his rosy lad. Frodo was a gaunt shadow of the hobbit he had been. The remaining dark scabbing on his chin only added to his dreadful appearance.  
  
The muscle spasms in Frodo's thighs and lower back were the most frightening of all. At the slightest movement, and without warning, one of these could occur at anytime of the day or night and the lad would be crying out in pain. It was not possible to leave him unattended and either Bilbo or Mrs Willowbank, the nurse, had to be in attendance to massage out the knots, and, just as important, to comfort Frodo afterwards.  
  
These spasms were so painful that often Frodo would feel queasy for some time afterwards, often losing his appetite all together and the young hobbit lost weight at an alarming rate.  
  
Dr Bramble sat Bilbo down with a glass of Old Winyards, and told him what he could expect. "Frodo appears to have ruptured one, possibly two discs in his spine when he landed, after his fall from the tree. The remains of one or both of these are probably pressing on his spinal cord and causing his paralysis. He will need to be moved daily, cruel as that may seem with his spasms, but his legs must be manipulated to stop the muscles from atrophying. He is not going to like that, but over time the pain should start to ease."  
  
The doctor sat down. "I know what you are going to ask me Mr Baggins. Will he regain use of his legs? There is no simple answer. I just don't know. As I told you, he is young and has some growing left to do. All we can do now is leave it to time and hope his youth works to his advantage."  
  
The despair on Bilbo's face was awful. "And how do I tell a 19 year old lad he may never be able to walk again?"  
  
*****  
  
"And my sister never went near the farm again, though the farmer swore the cow was to blame and not him." Bilbo heard Frodo's giggle as he padded down the corridor. Mrs Willowbank had a family as abundant as the Brandybucks' and as eccentric as the Baggins's from the sound of it. She had a veritable store cupboard of funny stories about their escapades and Bilbo was sure she could easily fill a book with them.  
  
Since Frodo had been aware enough to appreciate her he had been begging for stories.  
  
"Now, here is your Uncle," she straightened up and smoothed her apron. "You'll be wanting some time to yourselves now."  
  
"Hello, my lad. How are you doing? I see that cup of creamed mushrooms soon vanished."  
  
"I feel a bit light headed. I couldn't even lift my head by myself," said Frodo. "The oddest thing is my legs. They feel so weak and lifeless. Will they come back soon, now the fever is gone? I hate to think I have wasted two weeks in bed. I was thinking, when I get up, you will have to let me stay up later at night to make up for it. I have a lot of catching up to do."  
  
Bilbo felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He would have done anything, given anything, not to have heard those words and he dreaded Frodo's reaction to the news he had to give the dear, stricken lad. He took Frodo's small hands in his.  
  
"Frodo, my dearest boy, we have to have a talk."  
  
"What is it Uncle?"  
  
"You may have to stay in bed a while longer," he started, trying to speak as gently and compassionately as he could. "Your legs feel funny because you have hurt your back very badly. It may take some time for them to feel well again." Bilbo forced himself to look up and meet Frodo's eyes. The beautiful blue of them had become fixed and staring and silence stretched till it seemed to fill the whole of the hill.  
  
"The doctor thinks you will grow out of it in time. Get your strength back and be able to walk again. But you are going to have to be very brave and very patient."  
  
"In time." Frodo echoed in a voice which seemed to come from a very long way away. "Do you mean I might never be able to walk again?"  
  
"We can't tell, my lad."  
  
Frodo twisted his hands free of the older hobbit's grasp and turned his head away. He bit his lip furiously to keep from crying out. He could feel a big scream building up somewhere inside him and knew that at any moment it was going to burst like a dragon from the side of a mountain and he didn't think he would be able to stop it.  
  
*****  
  
Mrs Willowbank was in the kitchen when she heard the awful sound of grief and despair echoing down the passageway. She twisted the dishcloth between her hands. "Oh, the poor child," she said. "The poor dear." 


	10. Chapter 10

Part 10/? Angie  
  
The summer that year fulfilled all its early promise, and more. Busy lizzies and petunias gave way to marigolds and geraniums. The crops grew tall and ripened under the sun and more than one farmer in the neighbourhood of Bag End found his fruit stock less depleted than usual by unauthorised hobbit fingers. The Gaffer's prize strawberries went unharvested by any other than himself and the raspberries were filling out, beautifully unmolested. Bilbo found himself missing the usual bout of stomach upsets that Frodo was wont to suffer from after stuffing himself too early in the season with pilfered fruit.  
  
Weeks passed and slowly Frodo had stopped asking if he might try to go out that day. Bilbo would often lie awake at nights and hear the muffled sobs all too evidenced by red rimmed eyes the next morning. The pain had faded somewhat, leaving Frodo weak and listless. But the summer drew on and Frodo's legs remained useless.  
  
*****  
  
Samwise Gamgee was miserable. He had not been allowed to see Master Frodo for over a week now. He missed the older boy dreadfully. None of Sam's older siblings had much time for a seven year old boy and the closest to his age were the girls who played terrible games involving dolls and hair ribbons. After one harrowing experience, which had resulted in him being dressed up in a bonnet and apron, he avoided them the same way he avoided a wasp's nest. Sam craved the adventures Master Frodo had used to think up for them. Last year the older boy had taught him how to make potato missiles by sharpening one end of a stick onto which the potato could them be stuck and launched with a deft flick of the wrist. That had been great fun, until the farmer had caught them at it. Or the time they had practised sword fighting with stinging nettles, perhaps not one of Frodo's best ideas. It hadn't lasted more than the few moments it took for them to yelp loudly and dropped the stems, but the two boys had gone home covered in painful red spots as battle scars and had been slapped all over with camomile lotion to stop the nettle's irritation.  
  
Sam had persisted in breaking away from his parents and scampering up the hill whenever the opportunity presented itself. Orcs and dragons would not keep Samwise from his Master Frodo. But then, one dreadful morning, Sam had snuck in to Bag End to find Frodo red eyed from weeping.  
  
Frodo was lying as usual flat on his back in bed. A discarded array of books and toys lay around the room on various surfaces, and not a few on the floor, where they had been launched with what little strength Frodo's frustration had given him. Bilbo had retreated to the kitchen where Sam could hear him crashing pots in a most uncharacteristic manner.  
  
"Master Frodo?" Sam asked timidly, coming to the bed and taking Frodo's hand from where it lay on the top of the covers. "How are you today?"  
  
Frodo turned his head, taking in the wind-tousled hair, freckled face, and brown cheeks of the little boy. Something awful sparked in the blue depths of his eyes.  
  
"Go away!" he said distinctly. "Go away, and don't come back. I don't want to see you again!"  
  
And Sam had fled, with tears streaming down his face.  
  
  
  
Frodo ran through the long grass that grew so lushly by the banks of the Brandywine River. The sun was strong on his shoulders and his flying feet disturbed little clouds of yellow butterflies that fluttered in the golden air. A dragonfly was zipping up and down in impressive loops over the rushes to impress its partner, its wings flashing like a dragon horde in the sun.  
  
Frodo's feet seemed to be flying of their own accord, driven on by the joy of being able to run purely for the sake of running.  
  
"Mamma!" Frodo yelled as he came in sight of the pretty figure of his mother and his feet took him to her in a moment and her arms caught him safely up as they always did. "I made it!" he gasped. "I found you again!"  
  
He breathed in the smell of cinnamon from her apron and was so glad that he thought he might burst. He wrapped his arms around her so tightly. This time he would not let go. Her arms still held him but when he tilted his head up to look into her face he saw disappointment in her eyes instead of welcome.  
  
"Why are you here, Frodo?" she asked.  
  
"Why? I missed you so. Don't you want me here?" he stuttered out the words.  
  
"It is not your time," she told him. "You have a lot of living to do still."  
  
"But, but I wasn't alive. I can't walk!" he cried, "I wanted to be with you again."  
  
"That is not for you to decide," Primula said. "It is not for you to say when your song has been sung."  
  
"But I want to be with you!" Frodo yelled. "I want to be with you and Dad!"  
  
Her blue eyes softened, and wistfully she spoke. "Not yet, my dearest boy, not yet."  
  
  
  
Frodo awoke from the dream with a soft cry of despair. He lay in the perpetual twilight of his bedroom and stared at the ceiling. He felt ancient. Summer had passed him by - no more than a glint hinted at around his drawn curtains and the sound of bird song. He had settled into a sort of twilight himself, his body a useless dead weight, and his mind running in ever turning circles. He knew he was a pathetic burden, but he was too lost in misery to stir himself from his apathy. A long useless existence stretched out before him and, if he knew how, he longed to join his parents.  
  
The thought of his parents reminded him of the dream and he seemed to see again the message of disappointment in his mother's eyes. She had not been disappointed to see him again, only disappointed that he had turned his back on his life and run away.  
  
"Fool of a Baggins," he told himself. "Coward and worse."  
  
He felt as if he were following his parents - drowning, but, before he went under, he wished that someone would throw him a lifeline.  
  
*****  
  
Bilbo sat in the arch of his front door, puffing away at a pipe-full of Old Toby and watching the sun set, signalling the end of another long and empty day, or at least that was how it felt to him. He sat there with a heart as heavy as if the dwarves had poured it full of gold - and had then sunk it to the bottom of the Long Lake, so filled with concern was he over the dear young hobbit who lay so still in his bed. His young cousin was taking no more joy in the world, so Bilbo sat, sometimes for hours, hoping that some promising course of action might present itself to him.  
  
Something had gone out of the lad, something sorely missed by his older cousin. Frodo was turning his back on the world, refusing to see anyone except Bilbo and the doctor. With the worst of the pains past, Mrs Willowbank had gone on to her next client and an unpleasant gloom had settled over Bag End as though some one had died. No longer did even Sam's piping voice from time to time fill the burrow. He was too scared to return now that Mr Frodo had told him so harshly to stay away.  
  
As Halimath approached, Bilbo pondered incessantly about what he could do to help. What could he do that he had not already tried? Who could he speak to that he had not already spoken to? There had to be a solution, there just HAD to be. And after his musings and ponderings, casting aside an infinite number of plans and ideas, all he knew was that SOMEHOW he was going to need Sam. 


	11. Chapter 11

What Frodo Did Part 11  
  
Bell walked back into the cosy sitting room at Bagshot row after seeing the last of the children asleep in bed. She took off her apron and paused a moment before the hall mirror to straighten her hair a little.  
  
"Well," she announced herself. "All asleep and peaceful, m'dear."  
  
The Gaffer knocked out his pipe. "Then come and sit awhile lass," he patted the cushion on the settle before the fire.  
  
Bell settled herself down by her husband's side to watch the logs crackle on the fire, and pretty soon an arm sneaked round her shoulder.  
  
"Six young 'uns an still as pretty as a May morn."  
  
"Get away with you, you old fool," Bell smiled happily. "And each of them a credit to you," the Gaffer continued. "They're all as pretty as you."  
  
"And with your cheek to go with it."  
  
"What say you we sneak down the corridor."  
  
There was a knock on the door.  
  
"Botheration! Who can that be at this hour?"  
  
Hamfast was even more taken aback when Bell escorted Mr Bilbo Baggins into their sitting room. The gardener was on his feet in a moment, horrified at having been caught sitting down by his employer.  
  
"Good eve, Mr Bilbo, Sir."  
  
Bell ran frantic eyes around her sitting room, pleased to note all was in order, and fluffed up the cushion for Bilbo to sit in the best chair. "The kettle is on if you would like a cup."  
  
"That would be very nice Mrs Gamgee," Bilbo responded, knowing that, however unusual he himself was for a hobbit, the formalities had to be observed. And tea drunk before any business mentioned. In taking their time over things hobbits were second only to Ents.  
  
Tea was drunk, cake eaten, and small talk made. When Bilbo finally put down his second emptied cup he judged the time was right. "I've come to ask a favour of you and Mrs Gamgee."  
  
"Anything we can do, sir. You've no need to ask."  
  
"Now, you know the sad state my Frodo is in."  
  
"Aye, Sir. Lying in that room all day, curtains drawn, won't see anyone."  
  
"It is true Frodo is badly in need of some cheering up. If you have no objections, especially you, Mrs Gamgee, I would like to borrow Samwise."  
  
Bell gave her husband a puzzled look.  
  
"I will pay him a proper wage for his time. What ever you think suitable. I want him to come up to Bag End and sit with Frodo for a while. If a little piece of the outside world, like your Sam is, cannot give Frodo back some life, then I despair that anything will. Also, he would give me the perfect excuse to start reading again. I have some wonderful stories that I don't think Frodo has heard, and that Sam certainly never has! Between my stories and Sam's love of life I'm hoping it might have some effect on Frodo."  
  
Hamfast poured himself another cup of strong tea. "Well, Sir. You're right as it being Mrs Gamgee's decision, but I have no objection."  
  
"I think it's a right good idea," said Bell decisively. "Especially given how hard it's been to keep him away! No harm to Sam and maybe some good to Master Frodo."  
  
"And I could start him on his letters while he is with us. Frodo won't pick up his books and I've an idea that Samwise might be a help there too."  
  
"Well, in that case, Mr Baggins," said Bell. "There will be no talk of wage. Letter learning will be payment enough."  
  
"Done then," said Bilbo respecting a mother's pride. "Tomorrow morning if you can spare him."  
  
The Gaffer saw Bilbo to the door. "Forgive me for speaking Sir, but I think you've hit on the very thing Master Frodo needs."  
  
"I do hope so," Bilbo looked up at the stars. "I do hope so. There is something about Frodo, something which terrifies me. I think just now, if he could, he would like to die."  
  
*****  
  
Samwise stood hesitantly outside the round green door of Bag End the next morning. He was afraid to knock. Frodo's dismissal of weeks before still stung in his mind and the pain stung deeper in his heart. He shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Come on Sam Gamgee," he told himself. "Master Frodo needs you." The little boy screwed up all his courage. "You mustn't let Master Frodo down. You must help him get well and be himself again." After swallowing hard, he knocked.  
  
*****  
  
Frodo stared up at the curve of his bedroom ceiling.  
  
The door pushed open and he heard the hesitant patter of feet. Then a crown of blond hair appeared by his pillow.  
  
"Sam?" Frodo turned his head listlessly on the pillow.  
  
"Hello Master Frodo," said the child, slightly tremulously, but with a hopeful look on his face. "I brought you some pansies. They're real pretty."  
  
"Thank you Sam."  
  
"Where shall I put 'em?" Sam asked.  
  
"There's a glass on the stand. You can take some water from the jug."  
  
Samwise busied himself with his task and then set the pansies on Frodo's bedside cabinet. "You can't see 'em. It's too dark."  
  
"I like it dark," said Frodo gloomily.  
  
"Can I open the curtains just a bit?" Sam asked.  
  
"I suppose so," said Frodo ungraciously.  
  
Samwise had to climb up onto the window seat to pull open the curtains. The room the sunshine revealed was a sad sight, as was the occupant of the bed. Sam also cracked open the window to allow the entrance of a light, warm and fragrant late summer breeze.  
  
"Them flowers need sunshine and air," he said confidently and returned to Frodo's bedside. He was less confident here - the gloom of the other boy was rather subduing, especially after what had happened here during his last visit.  
  
"How are you, Master Frodo? Does your back still hurt?"  
  
"Not so long as I lie still," Frodo relied.  
  
"Then what do you do all day?" Sam looked curiously at the strange, thin, pale boy in the bed with the dark circles under his eyes.  
  
"What CAN I do?" asked Frodo wearily. "It hurts too much to sit up."  
  
"Does it?" asked Sam. "When did you last try?"  
  
Frodo was beginning to get impatient. "I don't need to try. My legs won't work anymore."  
  
"That's sad," said Sam. "But if you have to lie down all the time, you could still do it outside sometimes. The summer is ever so pretty this year."  
  
Frodo thought of the meadows by the Brandywine and in his memory little yellow butterflies stirred up in the grass again to greet him.  
  
He took a deep breath.  
  
Sam was prattling on. "May's cat's 'ad kittens. They're ever so funny. There's one's got orange stripes. And they're the most marvellous little bundles of fur - each one almost small enough to curl up in the palm of your hand!" Sam's eyes gleamed with pleasure and wonder as he recounted what he had seen. Frodo looked into those eyes and saw - what? - joy at life, even the life of a kitten?  
  
"I'd like to see them," said Frodo wistfully, stirring a little on the bed. "Could you ask her to bring them to see me?"  
  
"I can't," said Sam. "They're too little. They stay by their mum all day and their eyes ain't open yet. Ma says they'll be opening their eyes any day now and when they do they will be blue like cornflowers at first. I never saw a cat with blue eyes. Ma says they grow out of it, like babies do, so you will have to be quick about it."  
  
*****  
  
"Bilbo," said Frodo that evening. "Do you think I might be able to sit up a bit? Maybe in a chair?"  
  
"We could try it lad," said Bilbo carefully, trying to conceal his sudden rush of hope. The fact that the curtains were still open in Frodo's room and the sweet smell of the flowers wafting in on the evening air was more progress than he had even dared hope for in just one day. "Was there some reason you want to sit up?"  
  
"I wondered," continued Frodo slowly and thoughtfully. "If it was not too much trouble. If I might be carried down to Bagshot row."  
  
"I am sure we could manage that, my boy."  
  
"Sam said May has some orange kittens with blue eyes, but they are too little to be brought to me so I have to go to see them."  
  
"And would you like that?" Bilbo came to sit by Frodo's bedside.  
  
"I think I would,"  
  
"Then how about we try a little now. Just sit you up a bit in bed with some pillows to prop you?"  
  
Frodo looked nervous, but he did so want to see the kittens. "All right," he agreed.  
  
Bilbo went to fetch some extra pillows. Frodo was usually propped up on a couple in order to eat, but now he brought a few more.  
  
"Ready, my lad?"  
  
Frodo nodded and reached out to grip Bilbo's upper arms while Bilbo placed his arms round Frodo's back. With infinite care Bilbo eased Frodo up and Frodo tried to use his weakened muscles to pull himself up. He was panting and sweat broke out over his face, but he was doing it! He was sitting up!  
  
Bilbo popped another pillow behind Frodo.  
  
"I did it!" Frodo was sitting nearly upright now, clutching hold of the older hobbit and gasping. "I sat up! I didn't think I could."  
  
"We can often do things we think are beyond us," Bilbo said. "You can sit up for supper but then you had better lie back down and in the morning we will try sitting you up again."  
  
"Oh, I shall be too excited to sleep tonight. Can you imagine the look on Sam's face when he sees me up and about!"  
  
Samwise Gamgee will be even more surprised, thought Bilbo to himself, when I present him with a fine new suit of clothing for his efforts! And then for the first time in weeks, he smiled. 


	12. Chapter 12

I don't know about stuff like PG warnings but I think the coming chapter might need a 'High Cuteness level warning - liable to be bad for those who suffer from diabetes.'  
  
  
  
  
  
What Frodo Did Part 12/13  
  
That night Bilbo sat in his chair by Frodo's bedside, a portable desk on his lap. Writing letters to Brandy Hall of his cousin's progress was something of a daily solace to the old hobbit. The letters were becoming rather rambling missives, frequently interrupted, trains of thought broken, sentences unfinished.  
  
He also found himself writing of his feelings for the boy. How dear Frodo had become to him.  
  
Bilbo had never thought that another person could have had such an impact on his solitary bachelor life. If things had gone differently, Bilbo might have married and raised his own family to fill the tunnels of Bag End. But then Gandalf had challenged his casually wished 'Good Morning' and his life had utterly changed.  
  
He admitted that he had returned from his adventure a changed hobbit. For a while he had been content to lead a peaceful life, restoring Bag End and enjoying the pleasures of hearth and home and a readily available supply of pocket-handkerchiefs. But soon he became restless and he took to wandering again, visiting with the Elves and somehow Hobbiton seemed a little shallow to the more widely travelled hobbit.  
  
He had felt sorry for Frodo at first, wanting to give the lad a break from Brandy Hall. Then he came to appreciate his company. The boy was imaginative and quick to learn. Winters seemed to drag when Frodo was back at Brandy Hall and Bilbo began to look forward to the spring arrival of his cousin as much as the arrival of the primrose heralded days of sunshine.  
  
He reached out and brushed away an errant curl from Frodo's eyes. His hand froze as the lad stirred and murmured a bit, but did not wake. The dark silky curl wound its way round Bilbo's finger and clung there.  
  
*****  
  
"Why, Master Frodo!" gasped Sam in utter amazement. "Ma said I could come see the kittens, but she didn't say I was to see you too."  
  
Frodo was sitting propped around by cushions, well pleased with himself, in the barn which the Gamgees over-wintered their pigs in. May was sitting by him and offering kittens up one by one for his inspection. The kittens obviously thought little of this one by one business. Two were on Frodo's lap, one on his shoulder heading for his head, and a fourth was sitting on his cupped palms. The mother cat seemed to be highly grateful for her reprieve and was taking the time to groom herself thoroughly.  
  
"Ow!" the one on Frodo's shoulder stuck its minute paw into his ear and a nose followed to sniff tentatively. "O, its whiskers tickle!" Frodo still looked frightfully pale, and the hands which held the kitten shook a little, but there was a certain sparkle back in his blue eyes.  
  
Sam came over and took the kitten gently from Frodo's neck. "This one is my favourite. Look he's got orange stripes."  
  
"So he has, Sam, quite orange," Frodo stroked one finger along the delicate little creature's head.  
  
Bilbo and the Gaffer were sharing a pouch of pipeweed just outside, trying to make out they were not paying very close attention to the children's activities. When May ran back to the kitchen in answer to her mothers summons Frodo decided there was something he had to say.  
  
"Sam," said Frodo putting the kitten down and looking the younger boy in the eyes. "I owe you an apology."  
  
"What ever for Master Frodo?" Sam put his own kitten down and it promptly wandered back to its mother using its nose to detect her inviting warmth.  
  
Frodo took a deep breath. "You saved me when I fell out of the tree and you came to see me when I was so ill. And then I was rude and nasty to you and sent you away. I am very sorry."  
  
Sam felt tears pricking at his eyes. "You don't need to say sorry to me Master Frodo."  
  
"Yes, I do," insisted the older boy. "I need to say sorry to you and to Uncle Bilbo for being so bad tempered and miserable when you were both only trying to help me. You are a good friend Sam and I promise never to ask you to leave again."  
  
Sam blushed furiously under his freckles.  
  
"What's more Sam," Frodo continued. "I am going to make it up to both of you. I don't know how, but I will. I would like it if you would come to see me at Bag End as often as you wanted to."  
  
"I'll come everyday if Ma will let me," Sam promised.  
  
Frodo smiled and it was like the sun had come out in the barn. He was still pale and gaunt but there was a certain animation returning to him.  
  
"Oh look!" Sam cried. The orange and black striped cat had bumped into the younger boys chubby thigh and was now peering up in an unfocused way with eyes nearly as blue as Frodo's.  
  
Bilbo and the Gaffer finished their pipes in companiable silence. For all their difference in station, the two had a mutual respect for each other and what might, had boundaries allowed, have been a friendship. A good pipe was something to be smoked in silence, something to take time over, as hobbits took time over most things. When they returned to the barn silence had fallen and they soon saw why.  
  
Sitting up was rather painful and tiring for Frodo. Exhausted he had fallen asleep in his nest of cushions with Sam resting his head against his knee and also asleep.  
  
"I said as how you had a good idea there, Mr Bilbo," said the Gaffer.  
  
"That Samwise of yours is a treasure," Bilbo agreed. "He will make a wonderful gardener one day. He has the knack for making things bloom."  
  
*****  
  
After that Frodo was usually to be found in the warm spot at the back of Bag End enjoying the last of the summer sunshine and making plans with Bilbo for their birthday party. He could only sit up for short periods and got tired out very quickly. He still had his bad days but when these came he would call to mind his mothers face and promise himself that he would not disappoint her.  
  
Often he would nap out in the garden and the colour was slowly returning to his cheeks. Sam was always in attendance, willing to run in and fetch things for Frodo and was not above retrieving a handful of raspberries for them to share.  
  
Some relatives from Brandy Hall were coming to stay for the party and Bilbo noticed a certain hesitancy about his young cousin when arrangements were being made.  
  
"Why so silent, lad?" Bilbo asked one day when Samwise was on one of his errands. Frodo always wore his heart on his sleeve and Bilbo could tell something was bothering the lad.  
  
"Nothing," Frodo lied. "Just trying to decide what to get people for my birthday." Truth was that he usually went home to Brandy hall with the returning birthday visitors, and this year, more than any other he did not particularly want to return. He was not sure he could handle the bustle of life with so many people around.  
  
"It is time we had a little talk about that my lad," said Bilbo, setting aside his portable writing desk. "In fact, I have been meaning to talk to you for a while now."  
  
"About me going back to Buckland?" Frodo could not meet Bilbo's eyes.  
  
"Well, I think we are going to have to put that off for a while. You have done so well but you can hardly travel all the way to Brandy Hall." Bilbo took one of Frodo's hands which he could see was heading to his mouth for his nails to be bitten at, a habit Frodo had formed while ill. "But, I was thinking. How would you like not to go back to Brandy Hall at all? How would you like to stay here with me?" Bilbo babbled on, afraid to stop now he had started. Afraid that once he did stop Frodo would say 'no' and all his little plans and dreams of the last few weeks would fall into ruin. "You could see how you liked it. And maybe in a year or so we could make some formal arrangement."  
  
"Formal?"  
  
"Well, Bag End needs an heir and it is so handy us having our birthdays on the same day," that sounded lame but Bilbo was floundering here. "What I mean to say, my boy, is that I would like you to come and live with me, and I would adopt you as my heir. I know it is terrible selfish of me, taking you away from all your friends and relations at Brandy Hall, and I quite understand if you would rather not. In fact, I should never have asked -"  
  
"I would love to!" Frodo broke in. "I cannot think of anything I would like more."  
  
"What?" Bilbo looked up and met those brightly shining blue eyes, Frodo looked as though he could not believe what he had just heard.  
  
"But would you want me here? After I was so awful to everyone when I was ill."  
  
"Frodo, my dearest boy. I love you so very much." And Bilbo put his arms round the boy and hugged him as close as he dared, and felt hands creep up around his own back as the hug was returned.  
  
Sam ran round the corner to find them like that and stopped, bemused. Frodo opened his eyes to beam at his friend. "Guess what Sam. I am coming to live at Bag End for always."  
  
Sam beamed and beamed and could not think of a thing to say - until at last a thought struck him. "Good, 'cause now you're stayin' you can have one of the kittens to keep!" 


	13. Chapter 13

Thank you to Susan Coolidge for inspiring me with "What Katy Did". Thank you Mr Tolkien for not writing anything about Frodo's childhood and so giving us endless scope for play. Thank you Elijah for bringing out my mothering instinct - even if it is rather a horrible mothering instinct that knocks her babies out of trees. Thank you Frodo Healers so much for all your support and reviews. Thank you to my muse for returning to me. And a HUGE THANK YOU to Mark for editing above and beyond the call of duty.  
  
I don't own and I don't profit - in a monetary sense anyway - from any of this. I profit by way of enrichment of my life.  
Chapter 13  
  
The annual gathering of friends and relations at Bag End for Bilbo and Frodo's combined birthday was a small event that year.  
  
"So we can save up for next year," Bilbo had said with a wink.  
  
The guest list had included all of the Gamgee's, Dr Bramble and his wife were invited, as was Mrs Willowbank and, of course, all of Frodo's Brandy Hall relations. In the end, of the relations, only Esmerelda could come, bringing with her a fat bundle of toddling hobbit in the form of Cousin Meriadoc, who, Frodo sadly noted, "has still not grown into his ears."  
  
Frodo woke on the birthday morning to hear some one yelling from the guest bathroom fit to bring the ceiling down! The voice was easily identified as that of Cousin Merry - who was, by the sounds of it, either being drowned by marauding orcs, or fighting his mother's attempts to get the youngster bathed and dressed. Merry had strong ideas about baths - he was against them. Left to his own devices he would much rather run around all day in his nightshirt, and Frodo, knowing the messes his young cousin could get himself into, thought it would be rather a good idea and save an awful lot of mending.  
  
There was a light tap on his bedroom door and Bilbo stuck his head round. "A Happy Birthday to you my lad."  
  
"Bilbo! Happy Birthday!" Bilbo came to sit on Frodo's bed and gave him a hug and a kiss, which were eagerly returned.  
  
"I thought Merry might have woken you," Bilbo pulled package from underneath his best gold-thread-embroidered waistcoat. "We should have a few moments peace before poor Esmerelda can get him fit to be seen."  
  
Frodo took the package from his cousin. "What is it?"  
  
"Well, lets see, we could spend all morning guessing, or you could open it." Bilbo tucked a couple of pillows behind Frodo as he helped the lad to sit up. "But it is not for throwing mind," he teased.  
  
Frodo grinned a little shamefacedly and tore into the packaging. It was a book, a beautiful book of Elvish myths and legends. Speechless, Frodo ran his fingers just above the surface of the title page, afraid to touch the beautifully worked picture.  
  
"Thank you Uncle!"  
  
***  
  
Bagshot row was in turmoil as the Gamgees prepared themselves for the party. Bell was trying to knot her husband into a cravat for the occasion and he was complaining loudly about her choking him. Sam was standing by looking painfully shy in a rather grand new suit of clothing, which had been his present from Bilbo.  
  
"I wish it wuz my birthday," he said softly to his mother.  
  
"What ever for, my lad? You will get a wonderful meal and presents."  
  
"If it wuz my birthday I could give Master Frodo a present."  
  
Bell smiled lovingly down at her little boy. "And what would you give him my lamb?"  
  
"Well, if May would let me have one of the kittens, I could give that to Master Frodo. I know Mr Bilbo would say it was alright 'cause he said as how he's always afraid of the mice getting into the back pantry."  
  
"Well," Bell knelt down by her son. "Shall I let you in on a secret?"  
  
Sam nodded. He loved secrets. He especially loved telling them to Master Frodo.  
  
"The kittens will all need to be found good homes and if you go and ask her nicely I am sure she would let you have one for your Master Frodo."  
  
Sam glowed and ran off.  
  
***  
  
Tables had been set up in the back garden of Bag End - near the plum tree and a fine spread was already fair set to make the tables collapse. Frodo was already sat in a place of honour, overseeing the proceedings and directing Bilbo as to how he wanted his presents placed. "That one is for Merry," he passed over a very strangely shaped gift which Bilbo was fervently hoping was not any sort of catapult. Frodo had had many hours to sit and think and he had come up with thoughtful presents for most of his guests. Pipes and tobacco for the Gamgee men-folk (except for Sam of course), and pretty trinkets or scarves for the women. "This one is for Sam."  
  
Bilbo knew what the beautifully wrapped gift was and set it carefully on Sam's seat. "Sam is very fond of you Frodo."  
  
"I know and I am of him."  
  
"And because of that you must be extra careful of him."  
  
Frodo looked up. "I will be."  
  
Bilbo looked down the table at the serious faced little boy. "I am sure you will."  
  
***  
  
The Gamgees arrived in a flood, wishing respectful Happy Birthdays to their hosts. Sam padded in the wake of his family hauling a basket. He took his place by Frodo's side and placed the basket out of harms way under the table, then set into a very generous tea.  
  
The meal went ahead with much laughter and drinking of toasts "to the future health of Baggins Elder and Younger - to Frodo and Bilbo!" Mrs Willowbank was halfway into one of her funniest stories when Frodo felt the oddest sensation in his left foot. It was as though he had trodden on a thistle patch, and, without thinking, he jerked his foot away from the source of the irritation.  
  
"What is it, my boy?" Bilbo asked in concern at the look on Frodo's face. "Is the tea too hot?"  
  
"My foot!" gasped Frodo. "I just moved my foot!"  
  
Dr Bramble beamed. "I suggested that in time you would get some movement back."  
  
"But it felt as though something stung me!" Frodo frowned and then yelped. "Bilbo! Something is climbing up my leg!"  
  
Sam slid under the table. The basket was over turned and a small orange and black striped form was busily climbing up Frodo's breaches leg. Sam grabbed the small body, making the kitten hang on even tighter and Frodo yelled again. Bilbo was just about to panic when Sam reappeared with the struggling kitten in his hands and deposited it on the table in front of Frodo. "It's for you!" He looked shyly up at Frodo.  
  
"But it's not your birthday," said Frodo, followed by, "I moved my leg!"  
  
Bilbo wiped a tear from his eye, not sure whether it had been prompted by relief, joy or amusement, and moved round to take his stunned cousin in his arms. "And that is the best birthday present any of us could have asked for. You are making progress my lad."  
  
Sam ducked back under the table. "See if you can do it again." Frodo frowned in concentration, willing the foot to obey his commands. He felt Sam pulling on one of his toes and both boys giggled in elation as Frodo wriggled his toes out of the other boys grip.  
  
"I did it!"  
  
The whole table had to gather round then to see Frodo wiggle the toes on his right foot. At the other end of the table, Merry, who did not really know what was happening, picked up the kitten and, unobserved, happily sat it down in the trifle so that it could help itself to the cream. 


	14. Chapter 14

What Frodo Did 14  
  
It was Bell Gamgee who was the first to spot the predicament of the kitten. Merry was leaning on his elbows half over the table and watching closely as the small creature lapped up cream and custard, while its legs had quite vanished into the sponge and jelly beneath.  
  
"Oh, Master Brandybuck!" exclaimed Bell. "What a thing to do."  
  
Esmerelda turned her attention back to her son. "Oh dear."  
  
Bell hauled the kitten out of the trifle. It hung rather limply in her hands, custard dripping off the fur on its belly.  
  
"Frodo, my lad," said Bilbo. "It looks as though you are about to learn your first lesson in responsible pet ownership. That kitten needs a bath."  
  
"But Merry did it," protested Frodo, not quite sure whether to grin or look annoyed.  
  
"But it is your cat."  
  
Frodo pouted a little but then considered giving the kitten a bath might be rather fun. "Can Merry and Sam help?"  
  
"I'll fetch a bowl of water and some towels," volunteered Sam and ran off into the kitchen. He returned a moment later with a shallow bowl of water and some cloths under his arm. Bell deposited the kitten on Frodo's placemat and went indoors to put another kettle on to brew. The rest of the adults went away with the gaffer to see if there was any fruit left in the orchard to take the place of the ruined dessert for filling up corners.  
  
Frodo picked up the kitten and looked at it. It looked back, then started to clean its whiskers with the use of a long, pink tongue and a little orange forepaw. "Thank you Sam, he is wonderful."  
  
Merry was trying to float the new toy boat Frodo had got him for his birthday present, in the bowl of water.  
  
"Save that for your bath tub," Frodo told him and lifted the kitten into the bowl. The kitten paused for a second, then realised that there was nothing to eat in the bowl, and using Frodo's hands as a springboard propelled itself upwards. There was a yelp of pain from Sam, who found himself in the line of fire and then the sound of breaking crockery as the kitten landed on a stack of bowls, which were to have been used for serving the trifle.  
  
Merry clapped his hands together, delighted at the performance.  
  
Sam retrieved the kitten. They tried again.  
  
Bilbo came rushing out to see who was murdering whom. Sam went into the kitchen to get a clean cloth to bind up his lacerated forearm.  
  
It took the combined efforts of Sam, Frodo and Bilbo's oven gloves to hold the kitten in the water long enough to have its legs and belly cleaned. The kitten was not impressed. It fought, seeming to grow telescopic legs; it scratched, and bit with needle sharp little teeth. At last it was reasonably clean and wrapped in a towel, and the two elder boys were bleeding from a profusion of cuts and scratches while Merry seemed to have escaped unscathed.  
  
"There you go Master Frodo." Sam set the clean bundle in Frodo's lap - where it was promptly sick.  
In the evening all the guests returned to their own homes except Esmerelda and Merry, both of whom would be staying for a few days, and Samwise Gamgee, who was staying over-night with Frodo and Merry in what he considered to be the greatest treat of his whole life.  
  
Sam was now sitting on the carpet playing with the black and orange kitten, who had proved to be every bit as bold of nature as of colouring and was even now in total command of the hearthrug and repelling all boarders.  
  
Sam had a string of woolly pom-pom balls with which he had been amusing the kitten, but he was now as fair tied up as the kitten!  
  
"What are you going to call him?" Merry wanted to know.  
  
"Something elvish," replied his cousin. "Something heroic out of the old tales."  
  
The kitten spat furiously and arched its back as a yellow fluffy pom-pom became detached from the others and rolled past its nose. It pounded savagely at it and scrabbled at the wool with its back legs until the ball exploded into pieces.  
  
"You should call him Smaug," Sam pronounced.  
  
Bilbo got out of his chair and came to lean over Frodo. He ruffled the boy's dark curls affectionately. "Time you and your dragon were in bed. I've put all you boys in the one guest room. I know there is no point in even trying to separate you. Just, no candles under the covers now, mind!"  
  
Frodo twined his arms round his cousin's neck as Bilbo picked him up to carry into the bedroom. "Thank you Uncle Bilbo," he murmured into the older hobbit's ear and kissed the weathered cheek.  
  
Sam and Merry followed at his heels and Smaug at theirs.  
  
Bilbo returned a while later and stirred up the fire, sitting comfortably beside Esmerelda and joining her in drinking tea. "I hope your Merry is not too sensitive. I'll wager Frodo will be telling them spine-chilling tales all night. I never knew a lad with such an imagination."  
  
Esmerelda smiled. "You are doing a good thing, Bilbo, bringing him here to live with you. I don't say that I won't miss him around the Hall, but he is a lad who needs a lot of attention. He is rather unique and I think you will bring out the best in him, and maybe understand him more than perhaps some of his other cousins could. He will do well."  
  
The sudden sound of someone knocking loudly on Bilbo's beautiful green front door with an umbrella handle caused both hobbits to jump. "Sticklebacks!" swore Bilbo.  
  
He knew who it was already, but there was no putting it off. "I've come for my birthday present," announced Lobelia Sackville-Baggins superciliously the moment the door was open, "and to give you a piece of my mind about that Brandybuck whelp. Bilbo Baggins, taking in a cripple to live with you . . ."  
  
Bilbo slammed the door in Lobelia's face and walked away. He was halfway back to his cup of tea when there was a blood-curdling scream from the guest room. Bilbo shot a worried glance towards the room, then sighed and grinned to himself as he recognised the voice. No doubt Frodo had been telling Merry about the trolls who made hobbits into piecrusts. "Bilbo Baggins," he told himself. "I think you are in for a lot of adventures right here at home."  
  
*****  
  
Everyone slept in late the next morning. The Gaffer was the first sign of life around Bag End as he made his way to the vegetable plots at the end of the garden. Bilbo heard his gardener and got up himself to get the kettle on and fill his largest frying pans with sausages, tomatoes and mushrooms. Esmerelda joined him soon afterwards looking a little guilty at having slept in for so long. She smiled at Bilbo as he poured her a cup of tea and motioned her to be seated while he fussed over breakfast.  
  
Sam was the first of the boys to appear on the scene. He was looking a little shy and lost in his hand-me-down nightshirt which reached down to his ankles.  
  
"Come on in my lad. No need for formalities here, not today." Bilbo told him. "You are a guest now. Come and get some breakfast."  
  
Sam went even redder. "Master Frodo is still asleep but Master Merry is awake."  
  
"I'll get him," sighed Esmerelda, smiling fondly. "That one can smell bacon crisping from the other side of the Farthings."  
  
Esmerelda stuck her head round the bedroom door and found Merry sitting on the floor with Smaug. The imp looked at his mother full of wide-eyed innocence, having not quite forgotten the ear-bending he had received from her on the twin subjects of kittens and trifles and their excessive proximity to one another. "Breakfast?"  
  
"Yes, but you be sure to take the kitten into the kitchen with you, but keep it away from any food! Bilbo has bacon cooking." Merry nodded seriously and then toddled past his mother as fast as his little legs would carry him, down to the kitchen with Smaug on his heels. Of the two, Esmerelda did not know which was the less graceful. Merry ran like a windmill, his nightshirt for a sail, and Smaug was suffering from the blight of all kittens in that his back legs ran faster than his front legs. She restrained an urge to chuckle at the pair and after a few moments she breathed a quick sigh of relief when both young things reached the kitchen without damage.  
  
"Hello," said a sleepy voice from the bed. Frodo was rubbing his eyes and blinking. Esmerelda gave a start and came out of her reverie.  
  
"Good morning." Esmerelda came to sit on the edge of the bed and helped Frodo to sit up. "How are you this morning?"  
  
"Fine," Frodo replied.  
  
Esmerelda looked at the fragile looking little boy in the big bed. She reached out and brushed the tangle of dark curls from his beautiful blue eyes. Pale though he still was he was the most beautiful child Esmerelda had ever seen. It gave her a pang now to look at him. He reminded her so much of his mother.  
  
"Do you want me to help you get ready? I think nightshirts are the code of dress for this morning."  
  
Frodo grinned. "That's tradition for the morning after our birthdays. But, if you don't mind."  
  
"You would rather have Bilbo. I'll go see if he will trust me to cook breakfast."  
  
Frodo sat up in bed looking round his room at all the new things Bilbo had given him for his birthday. Bilbo was always so generous. Yesterday had been a bit over whelming for him: the party; the kitten; moving his foot. He looked down the bed at the outline of his legs beneath the bedcovers and carefully moved his left foot, making the covers bunch and stretch. So, he could still do it. He furrowed his brow and tried to move the whole leg.  
  
Having an idea he tossed aside the bed covers and used his hands to pull his legs over to the side of the bed. He braced one hand on the headboard, then used the other hand and gravity to drop his legs over the side of the bed so that he was sitting on the edge. He took a deep breath.  
  
"Frodo! No!" Bilbo caught Frodo round the waist just as the lad started to tip over the side of the bed, his legs buckling. Unbalanced, both cousins fell to the carpeted floor, Bilbo managing to brace Frodo. Stunned for a moment they sat like that, Frodo mostly on Bilbo's lap.  
  
"Whatever were you thinking of?" asked Bilbo shakily.  
  
"I just wanted to see. I wanted to see if I could." Frodo was trembling badly and Bilbo rubbed his back and shoulders soothingly.  
  
"Shush," Bilbo noticed the enormous blue eyes pooling up with tears. "You can't rush this, my lad. I know you are impatient, but you have to take it slowly or you could risk hurting yourself again."  
  
Frodo leant his head on his cousin's shoulder. "I want to be able to walk again," he whispered.  
  
"And you will. You will my boy." Bilbo hugged Frodo fiercely to him, kissing the dark head. "But for now, lets just get you cleaned up and get some breakfast inside of you. The more you eat the stronger you will get."  
  
Frodo raised his head. "I do love you Bilbo. Thank you for everything, for taking me in, and for, well, just for everything."  
  
"You are all the world to me, my boy," Bilbo assured him, stroking the soft cheek. "Now, we'd better get to the kitchen, or Merry will have eaten all the mushrooms."  
  
*****  
  
The day at Bag End was peacefully spent - for the most part. Merry and Smaug proved a well matched pair, alternating their time between sleeping flat out, eating, playing, and performing minor acts of destruction. Sam was content to sit by Frodo's side on the couch.  
  
Frodo's present to Merry, of a toy boat, had proved a great success at bath time. Merry was too eager to try out his new toy to protest needing to have a bath. "But I haven't done anything to get dirty yet!" was his usual battle cry. But this morning it was silenced and he propelled the beautifully detailed model around his bathtub hardly noticing his mother and the washcloth.  
  
Frodo's present to Sam had been a beautiful picture book, which had come all the way from Rivendell. Sam was entranced by the pictures and turned the pages begging Frodo to tell him stories about the animals, birds, elves, and great trees of the forests.  
  
"Is it true that some trees can talk?"  
  
And Frodo had spun a tail about a little hobbit lad who befriended a talking tree and went to live in the forest with the animals until Sam fell asleep cuddled up next to the older boy under a blanket.  
  
Frodo too soon fell asleep and dreamt that he was walking through a forest of enormous trees, with Sam at his side. In the dream there were little lights in the trees and tall graceful forms moving up staircases which wound around the trunks. There was singing too - a sort of ethereal singing which tore at him and made him want to cry with its beauty and its sadness, and Bilbo watched over him as he dreamed, wondering at the tears trickling from the young hobbit's eyes. 


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15  
  
Frodo waved a last goodbye to the pony cart carrying Merry and Esmerelda back to Buckland. He heaved a big sigh. "Merry is hard work."  
  
Bilbo grinned behind his cousin's back. "Do you want to sit out here a while longer, or come back in?"  
  
"Can I stay out a while please?" Frodo asked. "It is quite warm still."  
  
"Of course, my lad," Bilbo kissed the curly head and left Frodo to sit on the front garden bench overlooking the Party Field while he went back into the kitchen. The pantries at Bag End were sadly depleted now, with their visitors taking most of the supplies away inside them, and Bilbo wanted to get a patch of baking underway as soon as possible. They hardly had enough cakes or pies to see them through till next week. The breadbasket was in a sorry state, with only three crusty loaves and two dozen cinnamon rolls left. Bilbo went to look on the meat pie shelf and tutted to himself, only two chicken and three beef pies left. If he didn't get cooking soon they would starve!  
  
Soon a delicious aroma of cooking reached Frodo as he sat on the bench with a cushion behind his back and watched a humblebee busy at work in the snapdragons. The orange and black striped workman reminded him of something. On cue Smaug bounded into view and stuck his nose with unerring accuracy exactly where it should not be. The bee buzzed furiously at behind disturbed in its work and Smaug took a step back.  
  
"Leave him alone," Frodo warned his pet, wagging his finger at the mischievous little animal. Fortunately, Smaug's interest was caught by a long blade of grass that was clearly challenging his authority and he bounded over to battle it into submission.  
  
*****  
  
Autumn seemed to be making its appearance earlier this year. There was an indefinable something in the air which made Frodo a little sad. The flowers were looking rather jaded in the flowerbeds and there was wood smoke in the air rather than the scent of blossom.  
  
He had been sitting up for too long and his back was starting to ache. His legs felt funny too; twitchy, as though they wanted to move but had forgotten how. He wriggled his toes a little. 'Patience,' he reminded himself.  
  
"Here lad, try this," Bilbo appeared with a cheese topped crusty bread roll straight from the oven. Frodo took the napkin wrapped roll and felt the warmth through the cloth. The cheese was still melting over it, all golden yellow. Smaug was on Frodo's lap in a moment, his little nose sniffing in interest. Bilbo grabbed the kitten and sat by Frodo's side as the younger hobbit blew on the bread to cool it enough to eat.  
  
When the roll was demolished to satisfied noises from Frodo, and Smaug had licked the cheese off his fingers with his rough little tongue, Frodo leaned his head against Bilbo's shoulder.  
  
"Tired my boy?" the elder hobbit asked.  
  
"A little," Frodo admitted. "It suddenly seems to be getting colder."  
  
"The Gaffer was bringing in the last of the plums this morning. We will have a pantry full of apples soon as well."  
  
"What happens in Hobbiton during the winter?" Frodo wanted to know.  
  
"Much the same as happens in Buckland. We stock the larders and the wood piles and snuggle up till spring."  
  
Frodo chuckled. "You make us sound like squirrels sleeping all winter."  
  
"In a big soft bed, with big fluffy pillows, and lots of quilts."  
  
Frodo yawned and it was Bilbo's turn to chuckle. "Come on Frodo-me-lad. Lets tuck you up for a nap and then you can sample the rest of my cooking for tea."  
  
Bilbo picked Frodo up - glad, not for the first time, that the lad was rather slight for his age, even before his illness had taken some weight off. The curly head nestled under his chin as Frodo wound his arms round his cousin's neck.  
  
As if seeming to read Bilbo's mind Frodo asked, "What will we do when I am too big to carry?"  
  
"Never fear, by then you will be back on your own two legs. We will have you tramping all over Middle Earth before long."  
  
Bilbo carried his precious cargo into his bedroom and settled him on the bed. He helped Frodo to get into a nightshirt and then pulled the quilts up around him and tucked them in firmly under the little chin. Smaug bounced up onto the bed and Frodo lifted an edge of the quilt so the little creature could burrow down under it. Bilbo tried to look disapproving but had not the heart to. The kitten settled himself over one of Frodo's furred feet and started purring like a thunderstorm.  
  
"How do you sleep with that racket going on?" Bilbo kissed the smooth forehead and watched Frodo yawn cavernously. Blue eyes were already drifting closed. "Sleep well my boy."  
  
Bilbo made his way into the kitchen to check on the baking. He took out one patch of pies and cakes to cool on the table before putting in a second lot. There were also plumb preserves to be made. He would have to be extra careful with his 'special' batch this year - liberally flavoured with Old Winyards. It would not do to have Frodo getting his fingers into the wine spiced jam.  
  
Bilbo hummed happily to himself as he sorted through a pile of clothing to be taken to the laundry. Among his own things were a collection of smaller shirts and nightshirts. "Bilbo Baggins," he told himself as he shook out a pair of Frodo's breaches which had been turned carelessly inside out when taken off, "You are turning into quite the mother hen." And, he admitted to himself, he rather liked it. There was something satisfying in taking care of Frodo, in providing the love that the lad had missed since his parent's death. Something that filled a hole in his own heart - a hole that he had not, until his nephew started coming to visit, even realised was there. Maybe he was being selfish in not wanting to part from his cousin, but he intended that Frodo should have the best of everything. Including the best love and care a guardian could provide. 


	16. Chapter 16

Thank you to Susan Coolidge for inspiring me with "What Katy Did". Thank you Mr Tolkien for not writing anything about Frodo's childhood and so giving us endless scope for play. Thank you Elijah for bringing out my mothering instinct - even if it is rather a horrible mothering instinct that knocks her babies out of trees. Thank you Frodo Healers so much for all your support, encouragement, and reviews. Thank you to my muse for returning to me. And a HUGE THANK YOU to Mark for editing above and beyond the call of duty.  
  
I don't own and I don't profit - in a monetary sense anyway - from any of this. I profit by way of enrichment of my life.  
Chapter 16  
  
The last days of summer flowed into autumn and then winter. Frodo and Bilbo pleasantly weathered their first winter together at Bag End. Frodo liked nothing more than to lie on the couch in Bilbo's study and read and doze while the elder hobbit wrote. When the weather permitted, Sam made his way up the hill and he and Frodo had lessons together. Frodo was learning elvish while Sam was working his way through his alphabet.  
  
Living with Bilbo was balm to Frodo's injured heart. When the snow raged outside they would hole up in the kitchen and Frodo, blanked wrapped, would sit on Bilbo's lap and doze or read to his cousin with Smaug on his own lap. Bag End was warm and cozy but bundling up under eiderdowns taken from their beds made it seemed more like an adventure as the snow fell outside or a gale blew, rattled tree branches against the windows. It was wonderfully peaceful with just the two of them.  
  
Gently and gradually there were more small signs of progress. Slowly, Frodo's control of his toes and feet increased. Slowly, the improvement spread.  
  
One evening Frodo, ignoring the twinge in his back, raised his left leg and spread the toes to look at the flames in the fire from between them.  
  
"Bilbo," he whispered and Bilbo hugged him a little tighter.  
  
"Yes, my dear boy, I see."  
  
*****  
  
Spring thawed out the frosts and Frodo would look out at the dripping world and sometimes feel rather low himself. He was making progress, but not fast enough. He could move his legs but they would not support him. He had tried and many a time had Samwise been borne to the floor under Frodo's collapsing weight, a weight that the younger lad could not support. At these times Frodo would want very much to cry or to shout but then he would remember Bilbo, and Sam, and most of all, his parents, and he would sit upright again and let Sam help him up.  
  
Sitting upright was much easier now and he could stay out of bed for most of the day. His legs still felt as weak as a new born lambs but sometimes, just sometimes, he could feel an indefinable something in them.  
  
That is not to say that Frodo was a model charge. There were still tears of frustration and fits of depression. More than one book had to be sent to be re-bound once Frodo had vented his displeasure upon it. But Bilbo took even these flares of temper as a good sign. No longer was Frodo prepared to turn his back on life.  
  
*****  
  
At last the first full warm days of summer arrived, bringing their usual feeling of renewal to the young hobbit. There was excitement and promise in the scent of summer breezes which came in through the open windows and with the return of summer Frodo felt the return of some strength to his weak limbs.  
  
Frodo and Bilbo were sat in the garden eating their lunch together on one such summer's day while Smaug stalked butterflies, never seeming quite able to catch the bright insects. Frodo grinned from time to time, amused every time Smaug's body would still then his hindquarters would wiggle from side to side, his little tail lashing slightly, followed by a sudden bound and a short race toward the butterfly. The butterfly invariably managed to escape and would then bob just slightly out of Smaug's reach, as if to tease him.  
  
Bilbo had gone in to refill the kettle and Frodo watched the sleek young cat practice its pouncing. All of a sudden the cat froze, staring up into the plum tree, fur all on end.  
  
"What is it?" Frodo called to his pet. Smaug shifted his back legs and gathered himself; he made a strange chattering noise, and then, in a flash, was half way up the tree's trunk. There was an awful noise and leaves seemed to fly everywhere.  
  
"Smaug!" Frodo cried out in fear. From behind him came the crash of teacups and saucers.  
  
"Frodo!"  
  
Frodo turned round, realising he was on his feet, actually standing up, before he became dizzy and fell into his cousins arms.  
  
Smaug then shot by in hot pursuit of a red flash of sleek body and bushy tail.  
  
"Frodo my lad!"  
  
"Oh Bilbo. I did it! I didn't even think about it! I was standing up!" The two hobbits gasped in each others arms. "Let me go, let me go!"  
  
Bilbo did not let his young cousin go, but he took a step back and held Frodo's arms as the boy stood, on terribly shaky legs, but stood none the less. "Oh, my boy, my dearest boy." Bilbo was crying. "Look!" and he braced Frodo so they were standing shoulder to shoulder. "You are as tall as I am now!"  
  
*****  
  
Two weeks shy of his 21st birthday Frodo Baggins, Elf friend, Dragon tamer, Saviour of Middle Earth, stood up on the hill over-looking Hobbiton. Below him were the little streams, lush fields, and woodlands of home. He surveyed the scene before him seeing fields to be pilfered, streams to be explored, and trees to be.. Hum? Yes! Trees to be climbed!  
  
By his side stood Samwise the brave, his trusty squire. And on his shoulder sat his fierce shape-shifting, orange and black striped dragon, who had only ever been bested once, and that was by a squirrel.  
the end 


End file.
